Sunrise
by Mel966
Summary: This is the untold story of how Esme and Carlisle met--and how they fell in love.
1. Chapter 1

_This is an idea I came up with while talking with one of my friends. The story of how Esme and Carlisle met--and how they fell in love._

I sat, completely still on the chair, as a proper young lady should, while my mother prattled on and on about the missionary work to our neighbor. Our neighbor's daughter, Shea, was a close friend of mine and sat similiarly beside me, our backs straight as a rod, even though it was uncomfortable. My father was returning from South America soon. Shea's father and my father had traveled all the way to Brazil along with some other local pastors just to do missionary work, to spread Christianity to the native people down there. He hadn't seen me since I was very small, and my mother insisted I acted as if I were a princess from the Reinessance instead of a sixteen year old girl in America so I would, as she put it, "Show him how womanly I had become."

"Shea, my darling, you look spectacular," my mother gushed, patting my friend's soft black curls that clung to her cheeks. "Your father will be so proud of how beautiful and lady-like you are when he returns."

She smiled, and I could tell by her clenched jaw that she found this as dull as I did. I shot her a pleading look when my mother's back was turned. She knew what I meant, and she nodded her head sliightly. I grinned happily and abruptly stood from my seat at the same moment she did. Our mothers turned to look at us, surprised.

"I feel quite warm," Shea said feebly, placing the back of her hand on her forehead. "I think the sun is getting to me."

"Oh, no!" I cried dramatically, placing my palm oh her cheek. "You are quite warm." Turning to my mother, I added convincingly, "She musn't be outside in the sun this long, Mother. May I please help her inside and wet a cold rag?"

My mother glanced at Shea, who was cleverly panting as if she could hardly breathe. "Very well, Esme." The words had hardly left her mouth when I had grabbed Shea's hand and briskly walked around them towards my house.

As soon as we were out of earshot, we looked at each other and doubled over in laughter. "That... was... brilliant!" I gigled.

Shea grinned and did a theatrical bow. "All in a good day, m'lady." And we laughed even more.

"Esme, Shea," said a surprised voice. Our laughter died in our throats and we jerked our heads up. I relaxed slightly. It was just John, the schoolmaster's son.

He was a tall boy, towering over us even though he was a year younger. He had brown hair that was shoulder length and currently pulled back into a pony tail. Normally, his face was carefully composed, except for when he was around us. Then he lightened up and laughed and smiled and did all the things a fifteen year old boy should do.

"Hey, John!" I said happily.

"Esme, aren't you supposed to be with your mother? I saw her back there," he said, jerking his thumb towards the direction he had come from.

"Come on, lighten up, John! They are so boring! All they talk about are politics, future husbands, and cross-stitching. How are we possibly supposed to stay conscious through all that?" Shea demanded indignantly.

He smiled. "Do you want to go to the apple orchard? The apples are ripe; I was there just this morning."

I smiled again. "I'd love to! Come on, Shea!" I grabbed John's hand and began to run, holding my dress up with one hand so I didn't trip myself.

The apple orchard was beautiful this time of year. There were rows and rows of trees that had bright green leaves and delicious red apples. It was unusual that the birds hadn't destroyed any of the crop by now. The orchard was, of course, fenced and had a gate that was locked. But what good is a fence if you can just climb right over it? I dropped John's hand to grab the top of the fence and pull myself over, dropping to the other side and becoming tangled in my lenghty dress.

"This dumb dress will be the death of me," I muttered to Shea, and without further ado, pulled it over my head and tossed it to the ground. My mother always insisted I wear underclothes--usually tight flannel pants that went down just to my knees and a short-sleeved shirt that tighed in the back--and they turned out to be useful today. Laughing, I carelessly discarded the uncomfortable dress by the fence, and ran down the row of trees, feeling as free as a bird.

"Esme!" I heard Shea call. I paused and turned around, glancing at her with laughter in my eyes.

"Come on!" I called back, grinning as she, too, pulled off her dress and began to run towards me in just her underclothes. If my mother saw me now, she would probably swoon at how "improper" I was being.

John followed her, looking a bit uneasy. "Do you realize how much trouble I will get into if someone sees me with the two of you in your... underclothes?" he asked as soon as he was clsoe enough to be heard.

"No one is around," I retorted. "Who could catch us?"

He said nothing, and the smile returned to my face. I grabbed a low-hanging branch with my hand. "The apples are better higher up," I commented to Shea. "Let's climb."

She grinned. I pulled myself up with my arms and climbed higher, using branches as steps. I saw her following me out of my peripheral vision. John was standing under the tree, looking up at us in concern. "John, it was your idea," I told him. "Don't be so worrisome. Come on and have fun." I threw an apple down to him, smiling at him as he caught it with one hand.

"Look, Esme!" Shea exclaimed from just below me. "A bird's nest! Right above your head and off to the left a little!"

I glanced up in the direction she had mentioned, and sure enough, there was a small bird's nest. It was small, and was woven with branches and feathers and even some string. "I'm going to see if there are eggs," I said.

"No," John exclaimed. "The branches are too thin! They won't hold your weight, Esme!"

I looked at the branches. "Those aren't too thin, John! They'll hold up just fine. Watch!"

"Be careful," Shea said, sounding unusually concerned.

I continued to crawl out over the branches, higher and higher, until I was close to the bird nest. I cautiously inched closer to it. Finally, my face was close enough to look inside. I felt a smile light up my face. "Shea, John! There are eggs! Three of them!" I called down. One of the eggs shifted a little. "And I think one is hatching!"

"Really?" Shea gasped. "I've never seen an egg hatch! Move over Esme, I'm coming up there."

"Shea, don't," John pleaded. "There's no way the branch can hold the both of you."

"You said it wouldn't hold Esme, but it did," Shea argued. "You may be wrong this time, too."

She continued to climb closer to me. Eventually, she reached the branch I was balanced on. Slowly, she made her way over to me, and I swear John gasped with every step she took. However, the branch held fast. A small crack appeared in the egg, and we both grinned at each other and wordlessly continued to stare at the small egg. More and more cracks appeared, and then a small beak broke through the shell. I gasped slightly. It was so... miraculous! But where were the eggs' parents?

"I wonder where their mother is," Shea mused.

"I was thinking the same thing," I whispered. I looked towards the baby bird now half way out of the egg, and felt a fierce pang. What if their mother was dead? What if she was hurt?

"Esme, look," cooed Shea as the baby chick fell out of its egg and onto the nest. "It's so adorable."

I smiled softly at the small bird. Behind me, I heard a sudden, loud squawk. Shocked, I whipped my head around to find myself face to face with a larger bird. I squealed in surprise and instinctively lurched away from the animal. I lost my grip on the branch above me, and I fell flat on my rear end on the branch Shea and I were standing on. I heard something crack, and dread filled me as the branch broke from the tree and began falling to the ground a dozen or two feet below.

_And that is chapter one. Please review._


	2. Chapter 2

_I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read this story, and even more thanks to those who will review. I am sure everyone is sick of hearing authors beg for reviews, and I never understood it either until I started writing my own stories. But honestly, reviews are greatly appreciatedby all, no matter what your opinion of the story/plot/characters/writing style is. Even if you absolutely despise my writing (which if you did, it would be odd for you to be reading the second chapter), review anyways please. Thank you again. Here is chapter number two._

"Esme! Shea!" screamed John as I hit the ground with a sickening crunch, my left leg twisted awkwardly beneath me. I let out a piercing cry of pain, and I distantly heard Shea yell out in similiar pain beside me. Her voice was distorted as if I was underwater.

Tears poured down my face as I seized my leg with both hands, gasping for air. The pain was excruciating... almost unbearable. It lanced up from my ankle to my knee, and I felt like daggers were being thrust against my thigh. After glancing down, I screamed again, louder and more shrilly. Blood was pouring down my leg and there was a large, unnatural, sharp bulge on the side of my leg. My bone. I screamed again and then promptly vomited my breakfast all over the ground and myself.

"Oh, God," I heard John gasp. "Shea, Esme, I'll be right back! I'm going to get help!" I heard his rushed footsteps leading him away from us, but I was in too much pain to notice anything else.

I slammed my lids shut, wishing I could block out my pain as easily as I blocked out my sight, ground my teeth together to prevent myself from screaming anymore, and brought one hand to my face. I felt wild, scared and beyond reason. Opening my mouth, I rested my hand on my bottom lip and bit my finger roughly. In the back of my mind, some part of me wanted to know how Shea was and if she was hurt. But the consuming agony that raced up my body prevented such trivial thoughts and bubbled over; I let out another scream, tears pouring down my cheeks.

I heard shouting somewhere far away--everything was far away at that moment. Footsteps rapidly approached me, pounding on the ground. I felt arms move underneath my legs, and I screamed again as a hand rested on my left leg. The hand immediately jerked away and moved to my lower back. I felt myself being lifted into the air, and I could feel air rushing by me as whoever was carrying me ran. Nevertheless, I kept my eyes and mouth clamped shut.

"Where is Dr. Smith?" yelled the person who was holding me. I flinched away at the voice. It was loud, rough, angry.

"He's gone," another voice answered. I recognized it, but could not match it with a face. The arms around me constricted, and I whimpered in pain.

"Esme!" screeched a voice I would know anywhere. My mother. "What happened to her? My baby! Where is the doctor! We need a doctor now!" The loudness and nearness of her voice made me wince.

"There is a Dr. Cullen not far from here, in Columbus," someone said in a consoling way. "I took my son there when he caught a fever. Brilliant doctor. Adam is perfectly fine today. I recommend you take him there, Lucy."

"I will right now," my mother said. "Gabriel, ready the wagon and the horses." I started at the name. Gabriel was my father's name. Was it him? Was he here? "John, Charles, bring the girls into the house. Hurry!"

I felt a cool rag being pressed to my forehead. "Esme, what on Earth were you thinking?" my mother murmured, brushing a strand of my wavy hair out of my sweat-drenched face. "You could have snapped your neck. You could have died." Her voice sounded strangled, and I immediately felt guilty for acting so rashly. But how was I supposed to know the branch would snap? All I hoped right now was that Shea was not hurt, and that John wouldn't get in trouble.

I unlocked my jaw just enough to grind out a soft whisper. "I'm sorry... Shea... she hurt?"

"You both are," my mother replied. I wanted to scream at her. That wasn't the answer I wanted! I wanted to know if she was hurt. If she was, I would never forgive myself. It was my fault... all my fault. I felt a few more tears slide down my cheeks.

"Lucy," a voice said. "The wagon is ready. Come on, John, Charles." I felt more air rushing by me, and then I could tell strong arms were lifting me.

I was layed in the back of our wagon, on the cold, hard wood. Someone sat behind me, and cradled my head in their lap, stroking my hair softly. I didn't recognize the hands. They were tough, calloused like the person worked with rough materials or on a farm. If I could have moved without the pain in my leg, I would have thrown myself away from the hands I did not know. Slowly, curiously, I peeked one eye open--a talent that Shea desired but had never mastered. It was a man stroking my hair. Immediately both my eyes flew open in shock.

I knew him. I knew that somewhere, I had seen him before. He was middle-aged, with a scruffy chin and short hair that was the same color as mine. His face was tan; he had obviously spent a lot of time in the sun. Around his neck hung a cross, and on his left hand, he wore a wedding ring. Shocked, I could only stare at my father that I had not seen since I was seven.

"Esme, you're so grown up," he whispered to me. "Of course, I expected my first time seeing you in so long not to be in the wagon on the way to a doctor. I also hoped that you wouldn't be in so much pain... part of me also wished for you to be dressed." Part of his mouth curved up in an amused smile. I tried to smile back, but I couldn't manage it. This was the father I remembered. He always had been so... fun. As a child, I had adored him. When I was five, one of our sheep had given birth to a sick lamb. My mother said a sick lamb was no lamb at all, and my father had set out to kill it. I had been horrified; I dashed after my father and threw myself in front of the baby, saying that he would have to kill me first. After all, it was just a baby. My mother's reaction would have been to be shocked at my behavior; my father's reaction was to chuckle and say the lamb was then mine.

"Father..." I whispered. "Missed you."

"I missed you, too, Esme. I'm just glad I got home before Lucy married you off," he said with a smile. Only he could make jokes in this situation.

"Gabriel," I heard John say. "We're here. You take Esme, and I'll carry Shea." My father scooped me up in his arms and carefully climbed down out of the back of the wagon.

"Dr. Cullen," I heard my mother gasp. I looked at her out of the corner of my eye. Her face was one of shock, and her eyes were wide. I wondered what had surprised her so. Turning my head, I spotted John carefully carrying Shea, gazing at her with an expression of deep concern and affection. I smiled slightly at them, knowing that I would definitely talk to Shea about that later. But that wasn't what had surprised my mother. Swiveling my head slightly more, I saw a figure that had to be the Dr. Cullen.

Oh.

My mother's reaction made sense.

_And that is chapter two. Thank you again. Please review, and have a nice day._


	3. Chapter 3

_And this is Chapter 3. Based on my ideas on what I plan on putting in this story, and how long the chapters have been, I predict about 15 to 18 chapters in this story. Of course, I could be way off and I wouldn't really know for sure until the story is complete._

Dr. Cullen was unlike anything I had ever seen. His skin was unnaturally pale--the exact opposite of what I was used to seeing. The whiteness of his flesh suggested he had never actually been in sunlight enough to get a tan. But what surprised me--and probably my mother--the most was his attractiveness. The doctor's hair was blond and mostly neat except for a few wavy strands that hung down over his forehead. His eyes were shockingly golden, and were filled with warmth. I could feel my heart beat quicker while I was looking at him, and I blushed slightly at my extreme reaction to his prescense. I had never before reacted like that to a man... and there was no doubt that he was a man, although he looked almost too young to be such a well-respected and well-known doctor.

He ran his eyes over me very quickly, not in an inappropriate way, but more like a doctor assessing his patient's condition. The next second he was calling over his shoulder, "Miss Emma, please fetch two gurneys, quickly." His voice was beautiful, soft, like gentle waves on an ocean or soothing ripples in a pond. It calmed me immensely just hearing him talk.

"What exactly happened?" he asked my father in the same gentle tone that set my heart fluttering. When he spoke, I forgot the situation. I could hardly feel the pain in my leg.

"Esme and Shea were climbing an apple tree to look at a bird's nest and the branch snapped," John answered from off to my right. Compared to the doctor's voice, his was scratchy and unpleasent.

Dr. Cullen smiled as several nurses came running from inside the hospital, wheeling two gurneys along. My father passed me off to two of the nurses, who layed me gently on the wheeled bed, strapping my arms and legs down. I began to feel a little panicked. What were they going to do? What was wrong with my leg? Why was there so much blood? When would the hurting stop? I looked around wildly, realizing they were pushing the bed I was on away from my family and friends.

"Esme," whispered a voice from beside me. I craned my neck and saw Shea, strapped to a bed like I was, her gentle wavy black hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, her dark eyes wide with pain, and her tanned skin glistening with perspiration. It broke my heart to see her in so much obvious pain and know it was entirely my fault.

"I'm so sorry, Shea," I choked out. "It's my fault we're here. I should have listened to John." My best friend was injured because of me.

"No, Esme, it's not your fault," she assured me with a weak smile. "I should have listened to him, too. Besides, neither of us knew that bird was going to fly into your face like that."

"I bet my mother had a fit when she saw that we took off our dresses," I said to her and giggled despite the situation. She grinned back at me.

"Miss Emma, Miss Mary, please take Miss Esme Platt to room 102. Miss Katherine, Miss Brianna, please take Miss Shea Adams to room 103," Dr. Cullen told the nurses. I suddenly remembered that he was there, and felt a flash of embarassment that such a handsome man had seen me in nothing but my underclothes. I could feel a blush spreading across my cheeks for the second time since I had met him. But then I realized what he had said, and felt dread welling up. I was already in an unfamiliar place with complete strangers; they couldn't take my friend away from me as well!

The doctor must have seen my worried expression; he smiled reassuringly and said, "Don't worry, Miss Platt. After I diagnose your leg and make some adjustments, your family is welcome to come into your room and stay with you."

I relaxed greatly, smiling slightly. Before I could say goodbye to Shea, she had been wheeled into a room and a nurse shut the door behind her. I was wheeled into the room next to hers. There was already a hospital bed in there with curtains drawn around it for privacy; I guess I didn't get my own room.

"Miss Emma, please get the patient into a hospital gown, but be extra careful of her leg. I think we are looking at a compound fracture, broken blood vessels and maybe a damaged muscle or two. The bleeding has stopped by now, but any rough movement can start it up again," Dr. Cullen ordered, and abruptly left the room. I was grateful; I did not want to change in front of anyone, especially not the very attractive doctor.

The nurse I assumed was Emma unstrapped my limbs from the bed and pulled a hospital gown out of a drawer. She looked at the swollen, bloody, painful mess that was my leg and then at my knee-length underpants. Emma sighed and pulled a scapel out of the drawer. I gulped and closed my eyes as she cut my pants along both of my legs and then removed the fabric. I wanted to insist that I could do it myself, but I really did need help, especially with my shirt that tied in the back. The nurse helped me sit up, untied my shirt for me, and then handed me the hospital gown that I clumsily slipped on and tied at my right hip.

"She's all good, Carlisle," Emma said.

Dr. Cullen stepped back in the room and I felt the entire room light up with him in there. "Ah, good. Thank you Emma." She smiled flirtaciously and remained a second too long in the room. I glared at her back as she left the room and felt surprised at myself. I had no reason to be jealous. "Esme, I need to give you a painkiller before I help your leg." He held up a small shot. I gulped at the sight of a needle.

"How is Shea? Is she hurt?" I asked desperately, praying to God that my friend was perfectly fine.

"Miss Adams is doing just fine. She has a broken rib and a broken arm, but it is not as severe as you, I'm afraid," the doctor replied soothingly. When I still looked hesitant, he added, "You both will do just fine, Esme." I felt a shiver go through me as he uttered my name, even though it was probably inappropriate. "But I need to look at your leg and to do so, I need you to be sedated so that you feel nothing. The shot won't hurt."

I inhaled deeply, and smelled something sweet and unusual. It was the smell of a forest after it rains... of the soft mist rising above a lake mysteriously. Was it Dr. Cullen that smelled so good? He stepped closer to me, and reached out to hold my arm still as he administered the shot. I almost recoiled at his touch. His hands were so cold, as though he had just stepped inside from a snowstorm; but it was summer and that excuse made no sense. The last thing I felt was the needle slide into my skin, numbed by his cold hands.

_Thank you for reading, and I would appreciate reviews very much. Have a nice day._

_Mel._


	4. Chapter 4

_I hope that everyone has been enjoying this story. I know that I've been having a lot of fun writing it. Thanks to all the readers and extra thanks to the people who review. Here is the fourth chapter._

I groggily opened my eyes, and found myself staring at a plain white ceiling. This wasn't my bedroom. I sat bolt upright as the events came flooding back to me... the bird's nest... the pain... I was in the hospital? My entire left leg from ankle to mid thigh was set in a cast and was being held up in the air by a few wires. The position was becoming uncomfortable and I slumped back down onto the bed, exhausted.

"Esme! You're awake!"

I turned my head towards the voice and looked at Shea, immediately assessing her condition. She had bandages around her midsection, and her right arm was in a cast like my leg. Her hair was a frenzied mess; black curls were flying everywhere and if she sat up, I knew that she would have what we called bed head.

"Your parents have been bugging the doctor nonstop," she continued. Suddenly, she grinned impishly. "By the way, have you seen Dr. Cullen? He is so handsome! I almost died when he was looking at my arm."

I smiled at her with a bit of a michevious tint in my eye. "Does John know about your infatuation with the doctor?" I asked innocently, as if it were a very simple, normal question.

Shea blushed, and my suspicions were confirmed. I had never seen her blush about a boy. John must be pretty special to her. "I'm really happy for you," I told her with a smile. She glared at me slightly.

"Don't tell him!" she ordered somewhat frantically. "I don't want him to know! He'll be embarassed and I'll be embarassed and my mother will find out!"

"Can I be your maid of honor?" I inquired teasingly with a giggle.

"Esme!" she shrieked. I quickly glanced around to see if anyone was near. The hopsital room that we were in was empty, thankfully. Shea lowered her voice and continued, "I'm only sixteen. I'm not getting married yet. But when I do, of course you can be my maid of honor! And I expect to be yours when you get married."

"Of course you will, Shea," I promised.

"Esme, you're awake," a soft voice spoke. I turned my heart and felt my heart stop as I took in the beauty of Dr. Cullen. I felt a blush spread over my cheeks as I realized I was ogling him... and he was a man not my age and my doctor. It was beyond inappropriate, but I couldn't help myself. He smiled at me, and I stopped breathing for a second. "I'll let your parents know. They've been here all night. Shea, I believe yours went into town to pick up some food." I noticed how she blushed slightly as he said her name. "Apparently, the hospital food does not appeal to them."

"Well, it doesn't to me either," Shea said rather bluntly. "Do you enjoy the food here, Dr. Cullen?" She smiled at him and I fought a giggle at her flirting.

The doctor shook his head. "The food here is definitely not to my taste." He smiled slightly, as if enjoying a private joke. "Well, Miss Platt, Miss Adams, I will inform them that Esme has woken up," he told us and abruptly left to room. I stared after him in awe. Even how he walked was beautiful. He looked so graceful, so perfect.

"Oh, my goodness," sighed Shea happily. "I want this doctor more often."

I giggled. "Me, too." Breaking my leg was almost worth it. I only wished that Shea hadn't' been harmed.

"Esme!" my mother cried as she entered the room. She flung herself towards me and cradled my head gently. "Oh, my darling, my poor darling! How do you feel?" she asked anxiously.

"Lucy, let the girl breathe," my father said with a grin. "She's been through a lot."

"Mother, I'm fine," I assured her. "Dr. Cullen fixed me up great." I saw her beam at his name and I supressed a groan. She was far older than him, and was married. That was even more wrong than me liking him.

"John?" I asked, suddenly thinking of something. "Did the bird's nest fall from the tree, too?"

He looked at me from his place at Shea's bedside. "Yes," he said. I felt my eyes well up with tears. Those poor baby birds! I knew it was unlikely they had survived the fall, and I felt horribly guilty. The mother bird that had surprised me... she must be devastated.

"Are you in pain, Miss Platt?" inquired Dr. Cullen as he re-entered the room, holding a stack of papers that looked of great importance. "Would you like another painkiller?"

I shook my head, still crying. "I'm crying because... the branch I was standing on had a bird's nest with eggs and they fell, too. The mother bird must be agonized! Her babies are gone... and its my fault." I looked fixatedly at my hands. Even though I had never had a little sibling, I longed for a child. I loved all children--no matter what species they were.

Dr. Cullen looked bemused. "Very well, Miss Platt. Mrs. Platt, Mr. Platt, I need to see you outside in the hall for some paperwork," he said to my parents. My mother immediately sprang to her feet while my father followed slower. I could tell from my bed that my mother was walking with 'perfect posture.' I guessed that she was hoping to impress the doctor, and I sighed. He was unusually attractive, and I didn't think the image of him would ever fade from my mind. But there was more than his appearance. He was so... geniunely nice. Very polite and well-manndered.

I looked over at Shea's bed. She looked blissful, her eyes closed and a happy smile on her face. John was sitting on the edge of it, murmuring quietly to her and was stroking her wild curls with one hand. I didn't try to hear what he was saying, but I felt a pang in my chest watching the two of them. They both looked so happy together, and I was truly happy for both of them as well. But a part of me wondered if anyone would ever feel that way about me.

_That is it for now. I am fairly sure that this story will end up much longer than I expected. Esme still has to get married, have a baby, commit suicide, be changed into a vampire, and fall in love. Of course, there will be other things happening besides just her story. I really like Shea and John, and they will most likely remain in the story until Esme becomes a vampire. Anyways thanks for reading, and please review._

_Mel._


	5. Chapter 5

_Wow. This story has been getting a surprising number of people reading it, if you consider that I started it on Thursday and have only had a fanfiction account since Monday. On the other hand, I am on vacation and therefore spending a lot of time updating. Tomorrow, I probably won't post anything new because I am flying home and when I get home, my rate of posting will probably slow down considerably. Anyways, the usual thanks for reading and plea for reviews. And now on to the story._

"Well, Miss Platt," a nurse told me a week after the tree incident. "You are free to go home now! Isn't that lovely?" In a way, it was. I would get to sleep in my own bed, and actually interact with my family.

But on the other hand, if I went home, I wouldn't get to see Dr. Cullen everyday. I felt a small pang in my chest as I realized that I would have to say goodbye to him. No, bad, Esme! He's still your doctor and much older! Bad, bad, bad! The nurse was giving me an odd look, and I hurridly replied, "Oh, yes, I can't wait to get home." That was, of course, a total lie. I didn't want to go home. I wanted to stay at the hospital and learn more about the doctor, like I had been. Over the past week, I had been questioning him about everything. His home life, his family, his favorite color, and many, many others. I knew I had been nosy, and probably very rude to pry, but I was so honestly curious! I wanted to know so much more about him, including things that I shouldn't ever want to know. Like what he thought of me.

"Dr. Cullen will come in and sign your release papers, and I believe your father is coming to pick you up," the nurse said while adjusting the cast on my leg. She paused, and pulled open a drawer, extracting a folded piece of fabric. "Here," she said, offering me it. "Your mother left a dress for you to wear so that you can change out of the hospital gown." I accepted the dress, making a face when I realized that there was a large frilly bow around the midsection. How typical of my mother.

I sat up in bed, moving my legs so they hung off the side, and slowly slid to the floor. It wasn't the first time I had stood--the cast I wore was arranged so I could walk on it if I was careful. The nurse graciously left the room, and I untied the hospital gown, placing that wretched thing on the bed. I held up the dress, grimacing at the bow, but mentally thanking my mother for selecting one that only went to my knees. It would be much easier to balance and walk if I didn't have to hold up the corner of my dress. I slid the dress over my head. Thankfully the tightening strings were on the sides; I managed to tie them myself.

I looked around the white room and sighed. I would miss this place... well, more accurately, I would miss Dr. Cullen. I would miss the way my name rolled off his lips, the intense expression he had when examining a patient or making a diagnosis, the small lines in his forehead that would appear when he was concentrating or confused, and, maybe the most sinfully, his beautiful, gentle eyes. I knew what I was feeling was not right, and I also knew I would not act on it... I couldn't possibly do that to his reputation as well as my own. Besides, my feelings would most likely fade over time, and in a few months, I will remember him only as an unusually handsome doctor that I might occasionally run into in town.

I sat awkwardly on a chair, my leg off to the side. With the cast on, I couldn't sit with my legs crossed. My mother would probably be horrified if she saw that I was sitting with my legs apart in a dress. For seemingly the millionth time since I found out that I was returning home, I heaved a deep sigh.

"Is something wrong, Esme?" asked a voice suddenly that I had grown used to hearing and had grown to cherish. I jumped in my seat, quickly bringing my legs together as best as I could, straightening my back, and trying to soothe my suddenly rapid heartrate.

"Goodness, you frightened me," I confessed. How did he move so silently like that? "And nothing is wrong," I added, even though it wasn't true and I despised lying to him.

"Are you sure? I can get you a prescription for some pain medication if your leg hurts, or if you think you might have trouble sleeping," he offered, voice as smooth as honey.

I shook my head. "No, thank you." I hesitated briefly, gathering my courage. "Will I ever see you again?" I asked brazenly.

He looked slightly startled and I chatised myself for being too bold. "Fate has a way of surprising us," he said slowly. "But I doubt that you will. I'm leaving town next week. I've been offered a job at a different hospital, and I've accepted it." I tried to compose my face to hide how disappointed I felt. He was leaving? I knew I had no reason to be saddened by such news, but, nevertheless, I felt utterly let down.

"Are you sure you are all right?" he asked, sounding concerned. I told myself repeatedly that he was only concerned for my medical health. I'm his patient, after all, even if he is relocating. I nodded my head shakily. "Esme," he said softly. I inhaled a deep, shuddering breath, and looked up to meet his butterscotch eyes. "Try not to fall out of any more trees, okay?"

I exhaled slowly, feeling even more disappointed. Some hopelessly optimistic part of me had hoped he would tell me he could stay for me, or that he would at least miss me. "I'll try my best, Dr. Cullen," I answered honestly.

He smiled. "I've signed your release papers, which means I'm no longer your doctor. You may call me Carlisle." I felt my heart flutter, and I could only nod.

I looked down at my hands, embarassed slightly by my incompetence with speech. "Your father is here," he said suddenly. How did he know? I looked at him, a blush still evident on my cheeks, with confusion written on my face. "Would you like me to help you out to your father?"

Sadly, I shook my head, and stood. "I'll be fine." No matter how much I wanted to accept his offer, it would be easier if I gathered my will and left now, rather than in front of my father. "Good..." My voice failed and I cleared my throat to try again. "Goodbye, Carlisle," I whispered, wanting to hug him, but refusing to do so.

He smiled sadly and offered me his hand. I shook it, feeling confused once again at how cold his skin was, and enjoying touching him anyways. I had to practically pry my hand off his with my opposite hand, but I finally let go, turning my back on the attractive doctor, and hobbling ungracefully out of the room. Even though I wanted to desperately, I did not look back.

_And that is it for now, I'm afraid. I might update tomorrow, but it is unlikely. On Sunday there is also a slight chance but it is again unlikely._

_That sounded like a weather report. But thank you all for reading, and please reviews._


	6. Chapter 6

_People seem to really like this story. :) I'm flattered. Anyways, thanks for reading, and please review. I apologize that it took so long to post, but I was really busy flying home alone on an airplane. I know, I know. Excuses. Here is chapter six._

It had been five years since I had broken my leg. Five years since I had met Dr. Cullen, and I had never forgotten him. Sometimes he would even appear in my dreams, and I felt myself wishing that he had stayed or that I at least knew which hospital he had transferred to. My feelings confused me; they should have faded, not intensified over time. I had confessed to Shea what I was feeling, and she told me I had felt such things because a relationship with him while I was sixteen and his patient would have been forbidden. She said that I only wanted to have a relationship because I knew I couldn't. It was partially true, I supposed, but I think my feelings were more than that.

"Esme, someone is here to see you!" my mother called. Instantly, I was on my feet and in front of a mirror, fixing my hair and making minor adjustments to my dress. Maybe it was Carlisle! Maybe he had finally decided to drop by and see me! I wanted to dash out into the sitting room to see if it was indeed him, but I composed myself, restricting my legs from running. My heart was pounding loudly in my chest and I was deeply grateful that no one but me could hear it. I paused just outside of the sitting room, holding my breath and praying for it to be him.

I stepped into the sitting room and felt my spirit crash. It wasn't him. Part of me knew that it was unlikely to be the doctor, but I had still gotten my hopes up. It was a man--a well-groomed man that was probably semi-rich or rich--that was sitting on a chair, facing my mother. He looked up at me, and I felt slightly uncomfortable as his eyes inspected me. He looked like a gentleman; his dark hair was slicked back, and was dressed rather nicely. He had a scruffy beard on his chin, and I immediately felt myself longing for Carlisle's perfectly smooth jaw. Stop, Esme.

"Hello, Esme," the man said with a smile. I hesitantly smiled back.

"Hello, but I'm afraid I don't know your name," I said in what I hoped was a polite tone.

"I'm Charles Evenson. Do you remember me?" he asked. I scrutinized him for a second, and no memory of him popped up. I shook my head, and he replied, "I used to live by the apple orchard. I carried you home when you fell from the tree."

I thought back to the incident. The only vivid memory that I had was of Dr. Cullen's unnatural beauty and soothing voice. The rest was a blur. "I'm afraid I still don't remember you, Charles," I said somewhat apologetically.

He smiled. "That is all right." He paused, staring at me intently in a way that made my skin crawl uncomfortably. "Do you mind if I come back and see you more often?" I opened my mouth to politely decline his offer.

My mother nodded her head yes emphatically behind his back, glaring at me. I sighed mentally, and forced myself to smile and reply, "Please do."

Standing from his chair, he crossed the sitting room to take my hand. His eyes never leaving mine, he raised my hand to his mouth and gently kissed it. I wanted to pull my hand away, but I knew that it would be very rude. However, his beard made my fingers itch and ruined the gesture. I kept my smile throughout the process, but I'm pretty sure it became pained.

"I'm sorry to cut our visit short, but I really have matters to attend to," he told me. Suddenly, my smile became geniune, and I practically beamed at him.

"That is quite all right, Charles," I said happily, discreetly manuevering my hand out of his grasp.

"Until next time, Esme. It was a pleasure to meet you, and you, too, Mrs. Platt," he told my mother and I. I heaved a great sigh of relief once he had left through the front door.

My mothe rmisunderstood my sigh of relief as one of sadness, and she rose to pat my arm comfortingly. "He'll be back, Esme. Don't worry. I think that Charles has plans to marry you! Isn't that fantastic?" she exclaimed, clapping her palms together.

No. "He is a gentleman," I admitted grudgingly. Maybe he wasn't as bad as I wanted to think he was. I touched the hand he had kissed, trying to remember how his lips had felt, but all I could remember was how nice Carlisle's hand had felt against mine when he shook my hand goodbye all those years ago. Abruptly, I turned my back on my mother, calling over my shoulder, "I'm going to Shea and John's house." I was out the door before she could reply or protest.

Once outside, I exhaled slowly, and began to walk down the road. Shea and John had married almost a year ago, and because she didn't want to move to far from me, they settled only a quarter mile down the road. Their close proximity came in handy--whenever I was feeling upset or when my mother invited a particularly horrid suitor over, I would escape to their house. She was usually there during the daytime; John wouldn't let her out of the house since she found out she was pregnant. Before her pregnancy, she was a grade-school teacher in town, and I would usually go to the schoolhouse to escape my mother. No matter what, I had always felt welcome and comfortable around her.

I approached her front door, and opened it silently. "Shea, it's me," I warned her as I slipped into the warmth of her house. It smelled wonderful in there, like apples and spices.

"I'm in the kitchen," she replied. I made my way through their sitting room and into the kitchen. She was rolling out some dough--most likely for a pie--and leaning against the counter. He stomach was bulging--she had begun to show about a month ago and pretty soon she would be huge. I giggled when I saw the apron she was wearing.

"What are you laughing at, Esme?" she asked, putting down the roller and wiping her hands on the apron.

"Your apron. It really makes you look older and motherly," I told her with a smile.

She smiled back. "I know. But what's wrong? You're here for a reason." My smile faded.

"Do you know Charles Evenson?" I asked quietly.

Shea looked thoughtful for a second, and then replied, "Isn't he Mary's son?" Mary was a close friend of both of our mother's. I thought hard, and distantly remembered my mother mentioning Mary having a son named Charles, but I guess I never really made the connection.

I groaned. "You're right, and that makes it worse. My mother says he wants to marry me, and I can believe it." It would delight my mother if I married her best friend's son. That means she would be even more determined.

She crossed the kitchen and hugged me, akwardly because of her stomach. "At least he isn't fifty," she pointed out. I laughed.

"You always do know how to make me feel better," I told her with a smile. I sighed. "But I don't want to marry anyone. I don't need a husband to complete me." I could think of one person I wouldn't mind marrying, and he was the one person I probably never could marry.

"Of course you don't," she agreed. She placed her hand over her baby bump. "But if you want children, Esme..." I did want children. I wanted children with every fiber of my being. And Shea was right. The only way I could raise a child was to be married. Of course, I could raise it by myself, but what mother wants her children to grow up without a father?

I sighed again. Shea hugged me again. "No matter what happens, I'll always be here, and you can consider my children your own, Esme," she promised me. I smiled slightly. She was right, and I would treat and love her children as my own. But it wasn't the same.

_And that is chapter six. Thank you for reading. Please review!_

_Mel._


	7. Chapter 7

_Thanks for reading, guys! Please, please review! Here is chapter seven._

"Shea, I can't do this," I gasped desperately, tearing at my hair with my fingers in distress.

"Stop! You'll muss your hair!" she told me, catching my hands in hers to hold them still. "And why are you getting cold feet now?" Because my parents weren't around to pressure me to do this. Because when they weren't around, I didn't feel as guilty for depriving them of seeing me getting married--and to a family friend's son, no less. I knew they didn't want me alone. I knew they wanted grandchildren. I knew they wanted me to move out of their house, and still have somone to care for me. I knew that Charles was the cimple solution to all of their desires. But was he the answer to _my_ desires? The answer to that was simply no.

I couldn't tell Shea that. I had told her everything else in my life, but I couldn't tell her that. She would call off the wedding, and I would have to live with the disappointment on my mother's face. No matter how I've disobeyed her before, I had never seen disappointment on her face. Never. Anger, frustration, exasperation, tough love, and even amusement, but never disappointment. I hated feeling like I had disappointed anyone, and it was even worse that I knew it would hurt her feelings. But what made the situation even worse was that I wished Carlisle was here to whisk me away from this place and save me. Stop, stop, stop! You don't know him that well, Esme! He's probably forgotten you. If you were in his position, you would have forgotten the young, foolhardy patient by now, too.

"I..." I let my voice trail off. What was the right thing to do here? What should I do? I had nothing against Charles--he was a very polite man, kind to me, though not particularyly affectionate. The only problem with him was that I didn't love him. And I knew I never could. He simply didn't spark anything inside me. There were no fireworks. Just Charles. The only person that had ever ignited fireworks within me was... stop, don't think about him now! Not at your wedding! Not when your thoughts were supposed to be all about your soon-to-be husband. Stay focused, Esme.

Shea's eyes darkened. "I can tell your mother and father to call off the wedding. Just say the word, and I'll do it, Esme. I'll even come up with an excuse. You don't need to be guilty." I wished that she couldn't read me as well.

"No." I took a deep breath, and stated simply, "I can do this." She looked doubtful, and I quickly added, "It's just pre-wedding jitters. Every bride gets them." The first part was a lie, and I think she knew it.

"Pre-wedding jitters and doubt are two very different things, Esme. When I married John, I was nervous for the ceremony, but I never doubted that I wanted to be there," she told me, still sounding like she didn't believe me. I sighed inwardly.

"I'll be fine, Shea. I promise." I looked straight into her eyes as I uttered the falsehood, and felt regretful immediately. I had never outrighted lied on a promise before. "I'll be going down the aisle soon. My father will be here any minute to walk me down. You'd better get Anna ready." Anne was Shea's daughter; she was barely a year old. I felt my heart beat with pride like it always did when I said Anne's name. She was the closest thing I had to a daughter. Shea had even named her after me--Anne was my middle name.

My close friend looked at me searchingly for one long minute, and turned away from me. She crossed the room and gently lifted her daughter out of the crib, cooing soft words of comfort to the baby. Anne was supposedly my flower girl--I had no younger sisters or cousins--but she was obviously too young to walk down the aisle. The plan was for Shea--my maid of honor--to carry her daughter and a basket of flower petals down the aisle. It wasn't quite traditional, but I had promised her that she could be my maid of honor, and I had tried my best to fulfill that promise. Much to both of our delights, it had turned out just fine. Well, the maid of honor issue had, anyways.

I sighed, looking down at my dress. It really was beautiful; Shea, my mother, and I had all gone to a tailors to get it specially made for me. We picked out a design and fabric. It was silky and the neckline was a graceful half circle dipping to just above my breasts. I had insisted upon long sleeves, and I had gotten them just as I had pictured; they were tight around my arms and had beautifully beaded patterns. The bottom of my dress flared out dramatically and had a train several feet long. I wore a small tiara on my head and my veil flowed down my back along with my silky wavy hair. But no matter how beautiful or ugly my dress was, it wasn't enough to distract me.

"Esme," my father said, entering the room in his handsome tuxedo. "Are you ready? They're going to start the precession soon." No.

"I'm ready," I lied, adjusting my tiara slightly and standing. I walked over to him, and took a deep breath as I held his arm tightly.

Shea kissed me on the cheek quickly, and I hugged her and Anne. She smiled somewhat sadly at me, and then exited the room to make her way down the aisle. My breathing increased. Calm down. Calm down. Everything will be okay. What would Carlisle say if he were here?

I winced. Bad question to ask myself. I had no idea what he would say. I knew what I would want him to say--I would want him to pull me into his arms and declare that I needn't marry Charles. Say that I could escape all of this.

I had no more time left to think. The music had started and my father was escorting me down the aisle. On the ouside, I looked calm and maybe even excited as I walked down the aisle to the music. On the inside, I was having a panic attack. Why was I doing this? What was happening? Why couldn't I turn tail and run? The questions burned inside my head. I was distantly aware of my father handing me to Charles, but I couldn't really tell what was happening. When it was my turn, I repeated after the priest, but I couldn't tell you what I had said. Everything was a blur, until I heard the priest say the dreaded words.

"I now pronounce you man and wife."

Charles lips were against mine before I could even comprehend that I was married. I half-heartedly kissed him back, but I wished to be anywhere but there.

_Aww, poor Esme. She really shouldn't have married him. Anyways, thanks for reading, and I love reviews!_

_Mel._


	8. Chapter 8

_And here is the next chapter! I'm glad people have been enjoying this story! :) Thanks for reading, and please review!_

I hummed a quiet, sad tune as I prepared dinner. It was a week after my wedding--everything was going smoothly, I suppose. Smoothly meaning that everyone around me was pleased. Charles, my parents, Shea, my darling Anne, and John--they were all ecstatic. On the outside, I appeared happy as well. On the inside was an entirely different story. When Charles touched me, I felt nothing special. Quite the opposite--I felt dread pool in my stomach when his hands were on me. I knew it was foolish--he had been nothing but kind to me. However, I couldn't get past the feelings I had when we were in contact. They were the exact opposite of what I had felt when... Carlisle's hands had been checking my temperature, or shaking my hand or setting my bone in a cast. I sighed, disrupting the morbid tune. I shouldn't be thinking about him. I was married--and he probably was, too. Whoever the girl was, she was the luckiest woman alive.

I removed a loaf of bread from the oven carefully, making sure not to burn my fingertips. I had prepared most of dinner already--Charles was due home soon. During the day, he went to work in Columbus as a financial advisor for a large company. He never talked about it to me--I only knew what he did from snippets of conversations between him and my father. While he was at work, I stayed at home, cleaning the house and cooking. I would usually ride one of our two horses over to Shea's house for lunch. Anne was an utter delight, and I wished that I would have a child soon--and that he or she would be as charming as Anne.

I heard the front door open, and I knew Charles was home. I gently placed the steaming loaf of bread on the counter, and untied my apron. He normally would want to eat as soon as he got home. I could hear his heavy footsteps approaching. That was odd. He normally didn't step so heavily. I shrugged, sure that it was nothing. I turned around as he entered the room.

My eyes widened at the sight of him. His clothes were dusty, as though he had fallen. His eyes were bloodshot, and I could tell that he reeked of alchohol from across the room. The look on his face was frightening, and I stepped back slightly from him. He had never, ever gotten home drunk before, and as far as I knew, he never drank alchohol at all.

"Esme," he slurred, stumbling towards me. I flinched when the smell of alchohol became stronger as he neared me. He rested his hands on either side of me on the counter, trapping me. I looked up at him, scared. "My... wife..." He grabbed my neck with one hand and forced my mouth to his. His lips were rough, angry, and I struggled against him.

He pulled away suddenly, throwing me back against the counter. "I am your husband!" he roared. "Why do you fight me?"

I winced and flinched away from his livid voice. "Charles... stop... you're drunk... stop..." I begged.

He looked even angrier than before. He took a step towards me, and I couldn't escape. "I'm your husband," he snarled, and I flinched again when a sliver of spit landed on my cheek. "I can do with you as I will. You're mine."

I closed my eyes shut tight. What had happened? When had he become like this?

"Look at me, Esme," he spat, grabbing my chin roughly, and yanking it up. I kept my eyes shut, started to cry, and wordlessly shook my head.

He slapped me hard across the face. I collapsed to the ground, by that time, sobbing. "Get up," he ordered. I couldn't move. "Get up! Get_ up!_" I shook my head, bawling harder, and refusing to open my eyes, praying it was a nightmare.

I felt hands close tightly around my wrists and pull me to my feet. I cried out in pain, knowing there would be bruises on my arms tomorrow. I stood there, feeling his possessive, disgusting hands all over me, crying and begging him to stop. "I can do with you as I will!" he yelled at me again. He struck me again across my cheek. Oh, God, please make him stop. Please... I'll do anything.

An eternity later, Charles finally stumbled away from me without a word. I cumpled to the floor and lay there in a heap, quietly sobbing. I heard his footsteps leave the kitchen and head towards the sitting room. I didn't move. I couldn't get my body to stand, let alone walk. A spoon was laying on the floor beside me, and I picked it up with trembling hands, holding it to my face, to see my reflection in the back of it. I let out a sob, and instantly clamped my hand over my mouth, fearful. He musn't hear me. He musn't come back. I waited in fright for a second, holding my breath, and relaxed slightly when he didn't return.

I looked back at my distorted reflection. My eyes were puffy and red from crying so hard and my face was starting to bruise. I knew it would be so much worse tomorrow. No one could see it... no one. I knew I couldn't go outside until they faded.

What happened? Why had God punished me so? What crime had I comitted to deserve this? I remained crouched there, shivering, crying continuously, for the rest of the night.

_Poor, poor, Esme... Anyways, thanks for reading, and please review! Have a great day, and hopefully I'll have the next chapter out soon._

_Mel._


	9. Chapter 9

_Hey, thank you all for reading. School starts for me in a few weeks, and, once it starts, my updating might slow down or might speed up. I really don't know yet. Anyways, please review, and here is the next chapter._

I hadn't left the house in several days, since the... incident. That's what I refer to it as in my head, but I truthfully know it wasn't just an incident. The night after it happened, _he _came home, once again drunk, and the incident ocurred again. I was terrified. What was I supposed to do? He was my husband, but divorce was out of the question. I couldn't do that. No one ever got a divorce, and when they did, they became outcasts in our society. Also, I knew that if I divorced Charles, it would stress my mother. Recently, she had contracted an illness, and the doctor warned her that stress would be very bad for her condition. I couldn't be the cause of her disease worsening. I couldn't do that to her.

I also knew that it would pain my family and friends to see me bruised, both physically and emotionally. That was the reason I hadn't left the house--I didn't want to be seen. More than just avoiding my loved ones, I didn't want people to know what had happened to me. I felt... ashamed. A tiny part of me insisted that it wasn't my fault, that I hadn't done anything, but it was easily smothered. I was embarassed, and deeply confused. What _had _caused Charles to...?

I sniffled quietly, instinctively looking around in fear. A few tears leaked from my eyes as I realized it was already second nature for me to expect a repeat of the incident if I was loud. My life had changed so drastically in so short of time. I didn't know what had happened to me. It seemed only yesterday that I was the carefree, happy girl of sixteen whom fell from the tree. I smiled slightly, painfully. If only I could regain that sense of freedom and joy. And Carlisle... I hadn't thought about him in a while, probably since the wedding. I suppose I had been distracted with the newlywed stuff... and later by the incident. Oh, Carlisle. I wish he was here. I knew that he wasn't the kind of man who would hurt his wife. I also knew there was enough kindness in him for him to save me. I let out a trembling sigh. If only, if only.

A loud knock on the door alerted me to my senses. Fearfully, I leapt to my feet, panicking, and expecting it to be Charles. I relaxed slightly when I realized it was far too early for him to be home. But he could come home early, a part of me warned. I cleared my throat nervously. "Wh-who is it?" I called, my voice shaking.

"It's me, and if you don't open this door now, Esme Anne Evenson, so help me, I will break it down," my best friend replied, sounding very annoyed.

Oh, no. Not now! Not when I was bruised and crying! She couldn't know! Shea, please leave, I begged her silently. Don't see me like this. "Shea, now isn't the best time," I answered nervously.

"I don't give a damn. Open this door, Esme. Now," she orfered firmly.

"I can't," I whispered. Shea, please leave.

"Why not?" she demanded, and I could picture her perfectly, an irritated expression on her face and her hands on her hips.

"I..." I let my voice trail off. I didn't want to lie to her, but at the same time I couldn't give her a truthful answer. "I'm feeling ill," I added hastily, and then cursed myself for such horrible excuse. I knew she wouldn't buy it.

I got no reply, and I breathed a sigh of relief. She must have left.

No, of course she wouldn't leave. I felt so stupid for even thinking of the possibility. Shea was stubborn. She would sit outside that door for hours until I opened it... or Charles came home. Oh, no! She really would wait that long, I knew she would! I couldn't let her see Charles when he was drunk! He might not even stop at hurting me. He might go so far as to hurt her, too. I couldn't let him do that to her... or her unborn baby. It was better she saw what had happened to me than have it happen to her as well. I flung myself forward before I could change my mind and hurridly opened the door.

Sure enough, she was standing ourside, even tapping one foot in impatience. When she saw me, her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. "Esme..." she breathed in shock. "What happened?" She darted forward to embrace me tightly. I winced as she brushed several of my bruises. Instantly, she released me, and took a step back. I felt grateful that she hadn't brought Anne with her.

Wordlessly, I lead her into the sitting room, closing the door behind me. Shea didn't sit; she reached forward to touch my purple and blue cheek gently. "Who did this to you?" she murmured. "What happened?"

I started to cry. "Ch-Charles," I whispered. Her eyes narrowed.

"_He_ did this to you?" she said in a voice that was almost a snarl. I couldn't speak; I merely nodded. Her face was livid. "That bastard." I was surprised at her language--Shea almost never swore.

Suddenly, I found myself telling her everything that had happened. She occasionally would nod stiffly, still angry, or look at me sadly. Tears were still dripping off my face, and I wiped them with my hankerchief. When I was finished, Shea hugged me again, this time gently.

"You need to leave, Esme," she told me. "You can't stay with him. Not when he does this to you." I sniffled.

"I can't leave, Shea," I murmured quietly. "Divorce is so... horrid, and think of what it would do to my mother. She's dying, Shea. I can't do this to her."

She shook her head. "I know what it would do to your mother. But, Esme, you've always put others first. Please... please, this time, think of yourself," she begged.

I hugged her as hard as I could. "Shea... I can't."

_It is really hard for someone living in the U.S. in this century to understand Esme's point of view. Nowadays, men aren't as controlling of their wives in America's culture. However, back in the early 1900's, a woman basically was a man's property, and he could legally do whatever he wanted with her. Women were raised to be good wives, and being a good wife meant serving a husband and producing many healthy children. If you had been raised under that belief, what would you have done in Esme's shoes?_

_Wow, that sounded like one of my English assignments. Anyways, thanks for reading, sorry for being all scholarly in the author's note, and please review. :) Have a great day._

_Mel._


	10. Chapter 10

_Thanks for reading, and please review! :) Hope you guys enjoy it._

I smiled with forced cheer at my mother across the table. She was, as usual, babbling excitedly about inconsequentials. I sighed quietly, shifting my weight and wincing when the chair pressed against a larger bruise on my lower back. Despite Shea's warnings and pleas, I hadn't divorced Charles. Upon my desperate request, she had sworn not to tell a soul. Currently, she was seated to my right, and she shot me a concerned look at my mostly discreet wince. I didn't meet her eyes, once again ashamed.

"John, Charles and Gabriel will be joining us shortly," my mother told me. I nodded absent-mindedly. Charles would behave as he always did around my parents--the poster boy for gentlemanly actions. I sighed, once again wondering what my mother would say if she knew. "Shea, where are Anne and William?"

Shea smiled lovingly as she always did at the mention of her children. Anne was almost two, and William had been born a few months ago. I smiled slightly, too, simply because I couldn't have loved those children more if they had been my own. "Both are sleeping," she told my mother. "Anne was running around all afternoon and was too exhausted to stay awake for dinner." She smiled.

My mother smiled back. "You are so lucky to have beautiful healthy children," she commented. "It's a miracle." I knew what my mother was subtly referring to--the Spanish influenza outbreak that had occured a while back. "Esme, dear, are you planning on having children soon?" I knew my mother wanted me to have children before she passed away--which would be in a few years, according to the doctor.

I lightly touched my stomach, wondering what it would be like. "I guess it's all up to God now," I replied. Secretly, I prayed I never had a child of my own. Not that I didn't love children or want them, but it was Charles. How could I bring a baby into our household? God, please don't condemn a child like that. Not an innocent child.

"I hope He is gracious to you," my mother said, lightly touching my arm. I winced again. Not at her touch, but at the sick irony of it. If only she knew what was really going on in my life.

Shea cut in, rapidly steering the conversation away form what she and I knew to be dangerous waters. "Did John tell you that we bought a dog?"

"No, he didn't. What kind of dog?" I asked, genuinely curious and also grateful for the subject change.

She smiled. "An adorable Border Collie puppy. Anne named him Patches because she likes his patches of white and black. He's four months old and already protective of Anne and William."

My mother and I smiled. I replied, "That's so sweet." It really was. I had always wanted a dog when I was growing up, but my mother had always refused, saying that because my father wasn't around and she couldn't handle one by herself, I would have to wait.

I heard the front door open and my heart started pounding anxiously as Charles entered the room, followed closely by my father and John. He smiled at me, and I flinched away from him slightly as he sat on my left. John took a seat beside Shea, and my father beside my mother.

"Before we begin to eat," my father said. "Let us pray." He took my mother's hand and we all clasped hands, bowing our heads. "We thank you, Lord, for this dinner and the closeness of our family, even those who aren't related by blood. We thank you for the good fortune that you bless us with. In Jesus's name, I pray. Amen."

"Amen," I echoed, silently adding a prayer for God to release me from Charles. I released Shea's and Charle's hands and picked up my fork quietly. I looked around the table wordlessly, wishing with all my heart that Charles wasn't there with me. I wished that it had been another, preferably a man that I hadn't seen in so many years that it was surprising that I remembered his face as if it were yesterday. Wishing sinfully that it could be Carlisle next to me instead of Charles.

I daintily took a bite of my salad and chewed quietly, tuning out the conversation. Charles and my mother appeared to be animatedly discussing some topic that I had no interest in. Beside me, Shea ate in similiar silence, probably contemplating my situation as much as I was.

"Gabriel," Charles said, adressing my father as he helped himself to another serving of my mother's mashed potatoes. "What do you think of this war, eh_?"_

My father replied, "I think it is highly unnecessary." I smiled slightly to myself. My father always had been a pacifest and opposed war strongly.

"Why is that?" Charles asked, a hard edge in his voice. I shivered.

"I believe it is none of our business what is going on in Europe," my father said calmly. "I do not live in Europe, I am not European, and I do not believe I am willing to fight for Europe."

John smiled. "I think that America needs to be involved on the side of our allies. What sort of ally would we be if we did not help our allies like France and Britain? Besides, fighting in Europe can very easily travel to fighting in the States."

"I agree with John," Charles said. He paused. "And that is why I have agreed to join the army to fight." Silence greeted his words.

"When does your term start?" demanded John.

"God watch over you," my father told him.

My mother and Shea just gaped at him. I was even too shocked to gape. He was fighting in the war. Wait... if he was fighting, he would _leave_ for several _years_. I would be free of him! Oh, God, thank you! Thank you! I would be free of Charles! I wanted to leap to my feet and sing for joy. I would be in no danger from him. I felt slightly guilty for taking pleasure in this war--after all, I knew many would never return home--but how could I remain truly somber?

"Esme, what do you think about all of this?" my father asked me. I quickly composed my face, wiping the hapiness from it. My family would think that it would be odd if I were pleased.

"I am..." I groped around for a suitable word. "Shocked." That summed it up. They would assume I was shocked because I hadn't expected him to leave me, but truly I was shocked because I hadn't expected a solution to pop up this easily.

"I leave in five days," Charles told my father. Five days? Even better. I could survive five more days.

"Be safe," my mother told him. I wasn't listening. I was spaced out, imagining the freedom, the joy I could feel when he was finally gone.

_In case you were wondering, the war they are referring to is World War I. Anyways, Esme is free of Charles for a few years, but not forever. Let me know if you would prefer me to write a couple chapters taking place in those few years without Charles, or just skip ahead to his return. Please review, thanks for reading, and have a great day._

_Mel._


	11. Chapter 11

_I've decided to skip the period when Charles is gone and focus back on his return. Besides, nothing extremely exciting happens while he is gone. Anyways, thanks for reading, and please review!_

I sat nervously in my sitting room, wishing Shea was here to comfort me and help me relax. Charles's last letter had informed everyone of his return. He had gotten back into New York just two mornings ago, and was due home today. I was scared, but also curious. I was frightened of seeing him again--it had been several years since the last time he had hurt me and I feared that his return would mean that my life would return to the way it was back then. I had been praying that he had changed. That he would come home a new man--a gentler, more loving, less monstrous man. I knew that it was probably unlikely, but I couldn't help but hope.

The few years without Charles had been peaceful and almost as happy as my teenage years. I had to support myself, and I took a job as a schoolteacher at the school that John ran. I had moved in with Shea and John, too; I didn't want to live alone. I had been Shea's only company when she gave birth to her third child--a beautiful healthy girl named Felicity, or Fee for short. Even now, amongst all my axiety and fear, I still smiled at the mention of Shea's lovely children. Anne and William were growing up--she had started school a few monthes ago and he was walking and talking and doing all the toddler activities. Oh, I wished I could have children. But I couldn't have them, not hwne I was married to Charles. I stubbornly convinced myself that I would never bear a child belonging to him. If only willpower had anything to do with childbirth.

Oh, God, please protect me from Charles. Make him different. Make him change. And, at all costs, don't bring an innocent child into our life.

I could handle my own suffering. But I couldn't handle the suffering of anyone else, much less a small, innocent child.

A loud noise outside brought me out of my thoughts. I sat bolt upright, my back tensed and stiff. Was it him? Was he home? My heart was racing at an unhealthy speed, my palms were sweating heavily, and I was overall too frightened for thinking coherently. The front door was opening. I was panting. No, no, no! Please no!

Charles stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. He brushed his feet on the mat, looking down. I couldn't focus my eyes on him. He took one step, two steps, three steps into the sitting room. I was holding my breath. He finally looked at me, and my heart stopped beating. His eyes were colder than the iciest winter.

"Aren't you going to welcome me home?" he snarled. I flinched away from him, already starting to cry. He hadn't changed. He was still the same. Tears poured down my cheeks.

He took several more steps towards me, caressing my neck before sliding his hands lower. I leaned away from him, crying harder. What had I done to deserve him? "If you won't welcome me, Esme," he said in a hard, cold voice, "I will welcome myself home."

I shook my head wordlessly, scattering my tears across the couch. He pulled me up against him roughly, and I cried harder. He kissed me possessively, deeply, and I tried vainly to pull away. My efforts were no good. He was far too strong for me.

Instead of fighting, I lay there, casting my thoughts elsewhere, trying desperately to ignore the pain. I tried to remember my happiest memories.

When I was a baby, warm and content with very little wants or needs.

When I was six and I became friends with Shea after meeting at church and discovering we shared a common dislike of the pastor's long sermons.

When I was eight and John moved just down the street. My mother told me to welcome him to the neighborhood. I had hated the idea, and brought Shea along for entertainment. To our surprise, John became a close friend very quickly.

When I was eleven, riding horses with Shea, though our mothers despised it and John fretted over it.

When I was thirteen and had my first kiss with a boy, although my mother would have died of shcok if she knew.

When I was sixteen, and met Carlisle.

Carlisle... oh, if only he hadn't left. If only he had stayed in town. If he had, I wouldn't be in this situation right now. I don't mean that he would have married me--I couldn't be sure of that--but I mean I would have drawn strength from him, enough strength to say no to Charle's advances. Maybe I would see him again. If not in this life, then maybe the next. There was always hope, my father used to say. When everything else dies and is gone, there is always hope and faith. Oh, father, I want to hope and have faith, but when everything else has deid, hope and faith are hard to come by.

A harsh stab of pain brough me out of my haven inside my head. I cried out once in pain, my eyes flying open only to slam shut quickly again. Charles was on top of me... I could feel bruises forming all over my body--on my hips, my ribs, my chest, my neck... More tears slipped out of the corner of my eyes. Please stop. God, help me!

As though my prayer had very rapidly been answer, I felt the horrid weight on my body that had been pressing me to the couch leave. I felt air moving across my bare skin and I shivered, finally opening my eyes. Charles had left the room. I let out a sigh of relief that was short-lived. He wasn't gone for good. I sat up, wincing. I gingerly touched a sore spot on my hip and muffled a cry of pain. Oh, no. I would undoubtedly be sore beyond belief tomorrow. In addition, I knew I would have mottled bruises from my thighs to my neck. More tears came. Why me? God doesn't ever give people more than they could handle, but what does He see in me that convinces him that I can handle this?

_Once again, poor Esme. Also once again, thanks for reading. I would love it if you would review, and have a great day!_

_Mel._


	12. Chapter 12

_Thanks to everyone for reading, and I would love it if you all would review. Here is chapter twelve._

I fearfully entered the kitchen, breathing out a long sigh of relief when I realized Charles was still gone. A few days ago, he had gone to visit his mother, whose health was failing. I had insisted on staying home, reliving the joyous freedom I had experienced when he was off at war. Unfortunately, he was due home any time now. But that wasn't the only worry on my mind. I opened several drawers in the kitchen, rifling through cooking utensils, and failing to find what I was looking for. I sighed impatiently, and closed the drawer. Where else could I have put it? The office!

I dashed out of the kitchen, no longer cautious, and flung open the door to the office. I immediately headed to Charles's desk, and began sorting through the papers. When he was home, I was forbidden to go into the office--he thought it was improper for a woman to be involved in the finances of the house. Unknown to him, I actually did go into the office--almost every day, while he was at work. I would carefully scan the bills and state of our finances. But I wasn't looking for the financial papers. No, I was looking for my small, personal calendar.

It seems like an odd object to have around the house, but I was rather organized. My mother always suggested I have a small calendar, and mark special days on it. When I was younger, the days would oftentimes be my birthday, or Christmas, or, as I got older, the starting and ending days of my period. I needed it now, desperately. I had this ugly, nagging feeling that it had been far too long since my last one.

Finally, I found it. I seized it with suddenly trembling hands, flipping through until I found the month of April. It wasn't there. Frustrated, I flipped back to March. Ah. My last monthly menstruation had been five weeks ago. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. It couldn't be. I had to be wrong. It couldn't happen to me. Not now. Not in this lifetime.

I couldn't be _pregnant._

I dropped the calendar, and left the office with unseeing eyes. I was in a state of shock. I didn't even try to conceal that I had been going through Charles's stuff. It didn't matter anymore. Suddenly, a lot of things didnt matter. I somehow managed to enter the sitting room, and I collapsed on the couch, my face in my hands. I was pregnant. I was _pregnant._ I was carrying Charles's baby inside of me.

A part of me wanted to scream and another wanted to sob. No. No, it would _not_ be Charles's child. The baby would be mine. I wouldn't allow Charles any claim on the child.

I began to cry. What can I do now? Oh, God, please help me out of this. I crumpled into a small ball. I needed help. I needed support. I needed someone to tell me that it would be okay.

I needed Shea.

I leapt to my feet immediately, rushing to the front door and flinging it open. Not bothering to shut it behind me, I ran to the small pen beside the house, where my horse was stabled. Charles's horse was gone with him. I jerked the gate of the pen open, grabbing a bridle from the top of the fence. The golden mare looked at me in surprise as I hurridly slipped the bit into her mouth and did the straps on the bridle. I didn't bother with a saddle. I lead her forward and used the fence as a mounting block.

Once astride, I urged her forward desperately. She obendiantly galloped forward, with my clinging tightly to her back. We would pass many houses on the way--including my parent's house--and I knew I would be quite a sight, sobbing atop a running horse. It didn't matter to me. I needed to get to Shea.

I don't know how long it took me to get there--it could have been a few minutes or a few years. Shea saw me through her window and I could see her jaw drop. I slid from the horse, landing on my feet. My knees couldn't hold me, and I slumped to the ground, still crying. I heard a door open, and Shea was running to me, asking me questions, hugging me tightly, and helping me to my feet before leading me inside her home. I was leaning on her heavily as she guided me to the couch in her sitting room. Distantly, I heard her tell her children to leave the room, that she would be with them shortly. I knew her children would be frightened to see me like this, and I prayed it wouldn't distress them too much.

Out of her thousand questions, only one computed with my brain. What's wrong?

Oh, Shea, there is so much that is wrong. So much. But I answered honestly, feeling immediately better after I had uttered the truth.

"Shea, I'm pregnant," I whispered quietly. It barely escaped my lips, but I knew she heard. Her face paled and she hugged me tightly. She knew what the problem was instantly. The problem wasn't that I was scared or not ready to be a mother. The problem was that my _home_, my _situation_ couldn't handle a child. And, of course, the child would be in considerable danger from my husband, its _father_. I let out a strangled sob. This was sickening, what Charles was doing to me, to my life, to my unborn child.

"It'll be okay, Esme. I'll help you. We won't let him hurt the baby," she whispered consolingly. I hugged her back, grateful for her unconditional support and love. She was the best friend I could ask for, and she was completely right.

No, I would never allow Charles near my child. Suddenly, the path before me was clear. Still in Shea's comforting embrace, I raised my chin and squared my shoulders, though still crying. I knew what I would need to do, and I knew I would do it, no matter the cost to me. I would save my child.

_Finally, Esme finds strength. Anyways, thanks for reading! Hope you liked it, and please review! Have a great day, everyone._

_Mel._


	13. Chapter 13

_A big thank you to everyone who reviewed! You guys are the greatest. Thanks for reading, and here is lucky chapter thirteen._

I stood on the platform at the train station, feeling more alone than I had ever felt before. I wasn't physically alone--Shea was standing beside me, holding one of my bags for me, and John was a pace behind her, keeping track of their three children. Charles didn't know I was here--I had packed my bags while he was at work, and he would probably get home soon. However, it was too late. I wasn't worried about him anymore. My parents didn't know I was here either, and when they found out, my mother would probably explode. I didn't know if she would be angry at me for leaving, or at Charles for hurting me, or at herself for instigating the marriage. I hoped that it wasn't the first or third option.

I sighed for the trillionth time that day. I was scared--who wouldn't be scared of moving away from their hometown all by themselves while pregnant? My head was filled to the brim with worries, mostly about my unborn baby. I clutched my hands together nervously.

"But why is she leaving?" whined Anne behind me. My heart beat painfully. I wished that there was another way. A way that I could save my child without hurting Shea's. Furthermore, they didn't even understand why I was leaving. They were too young to understand.

"I'm leaving to go on an adventure," I told Anne lightly. It was the truth, after all, my leaving did amount to an adventure, but it was a different kind of adventure than what she was most likely picturing.

The little girl's eyes lit up. "Can I come?" she begged. I looked at her sadly, unable to respond.

"No, Anne, darling," John said quietly, hugging her. "Your place is with your mother and me and your brother and sister. Esme needs to do this by herself." He looked at me while he spoke and I dipped my head thankfully to him. John himself didn't know why I was leaving--Shea hadn't told him upon my request. Nevertheless, he was supporting my decision and even promised to look after my ill mother.

I heard the sound of the engine pulling closer on the train tracks. My goodbyes, which I had been dreading since I had decided to leave, were rapidly approaching. The train came to a slow stop and the conductor locked eyes with me and nodded. I was the only passenger on the train--it was a cargo carrier. The conductor was kind enough to permit me to stay in the front section of the train, where there was no cargo. He seemed to be a kind man.

I turned away from the train and knelt down on one knee so I was at Anne's height. She was starting to cry, and it broke my heart. I opened my arms to her, and she flung herself into my embrace. I held her tightly against my chest, holding back my own tears for her sake. "Goodbye, Anne," I whispered quietly to her. "Be good to your mother, and watch over your siblings. Don't climb trees." She giggled slightly there--she knew about my adventure with a tree when I was a teenager.

I released her, my heart already breaking. William was holding onto his father's leg, crying. I smiled softly at him, opening my arms for him, too. Just like his sister, he flung his arms around my neck, crying into the collar of my dress. I rubbed his back gently. "William, be good, and don't bother your sisters too bad. Watch out for your mother," I told him. He nodded against my neck. Unwillingly, I unwrapped my arms from around him.

I stood up and wordlessly held out my arms to John. He gently set his youngest daughter--little Felicity--into my arms. I hugged her, too. Although she was too young to really understand that I was leaving, she had picked up on the sadness in the air and was crying. I kissed her cheek and handed her to her mother.

As soon as the baby was out of my hands, John was hugging me tightly. He was more than just my best friend's husband. He was my second-best friend, too. I hugged him tightly back, my cheek against his shirt. "I'll write," I promised him. Quietly, I added, "Make sure Shea doesn't do anything stupid." I felt him chuckle.

"I can do that," he told me. "I've been doing that since you both were teenagers." I smiled at him, and stepped out of his embrace.

I took a deep breath, knowing this was going to be the hardest goodbye. Shea handed Felicity to John, and, in typical Shea-fashion, ran forward, flinging her arms around me. I knew she was crying, and I hugged her as tightly as I could. We had been through so much together. I didn't even know if I would see her again in this lifetime. She kissed my cheek and I stepped back. No words were spoken, and none were needed. She picked up one of my bags, I grabbed the other, and we walked side-by-side to the train.

It was as if the entire world had stopped. I looked over at my best friend, my sister in everything but blood, at her beautiful dark curls, her tear-streaked, tanned cheeks, her dark lashes. Above all things, I would miss her. I knew we would write to each other, but it was not the same. When I was in trouble, I couldn't run to the safety of her home. I couldn't depend on her to cheer me up. I couldn't confide in her any longer. In more ways than one, this was the end of our close friendship. I took a deep, shuddering breath as I put my bag in the train, climbing in after it.

Shea locked eyes with me as she placed my other bag at my feet. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. That was all I could handle. Tears poured down my cheeks. She didn't hug me, and I knew why. This was her final goodbye. She didn't want to prolong the unavoidable, and neither did I. Right as the door was closing, she smiled.

At first, I didn't understand why. She wasn't happy. She wasn't hopeful. Why was she smiling so joyously?

As the train pulled away from the station, I understood why. She was smiling for me. Both of us knew, deep down, that we would never see each other again. That was her final, heartbreaking goodbye. She made sure that the last time I ever saw her face in this world, that she was smiling for me. I wanted to crumple to the floor and sob. Everything and everyone I loved, I had just left on that train platform.

No. Not everyone, I thought, placing my hand on my stomach.

_That was rather hard to write. I really like Shea and John and their children. But, sadly, it was necessary for the story. Thanks for reading, and please review! Have a great day._

_Mel._


	14. Chapter 14

_Here you all go! I started school today and the return of acedemics means that I might not be updating as frequently. Anyways, thanks for reading and please review!_

I took the train all the way to Milwaukee, Wisconsin. I had some distant family there--a couple of second cousins and a few great aunts and uncles. Upon arriving on their doorstep, I told them I was Gabriel's only daughter. They knew of me; of course. Although I had never visited them as a child, they had heard about me in letters from my father. Thankfully, they had graciously accepted me into their home. My second cousin's name was Arianna--her father was of Spanish decent--and her husband was named George. They were a happy couple--newly wed, with no children, perfectly willing to take in a long-lost relative into their home. I told them nothing of Charles, or the unborn baby. I wasn't sure how long I was going to stay with them and I would say nothing until I had decided.

Almost immediately after arriving in their home, I began the first of many letters to my best friend back in Columbus, Ohio.

_Dear Shea,_

_I finally arrived in Milwaukee. The train ride took seemingly forever; although the conductor was very hospitable. Currently, I am staying with a second cousin and her husband. They truly are wonderful people to allow me to stay with them._

_I'm not sure how long I intend on staying. I haven't told them about the pregnancy yet. I'm somewhat afraid of how they will respond... what if they decide that I made the wrong decision? They would undoubtedly write to my father and mother. I know my mother; she would catch a train all the way out here, even in her condition, just to drag me back home. She definitely would not approve of me having the baby so far away from my home and my family._

_I don't really have much else to say in this letter... give Anne, William, Felicity and John my love, will you? When replying to this letter, make it out to Arianna Morgan or George Morgan. Thank you very much for your support, Shea._

_Love,_

_Esme._

I signed my name with a flourish, and sealed the envelope quietly. I knew it was brief, but, for once, I had little to say to my best friend. When she received it, I knew it would ease her worry to know that I was safe. Sighing deeply, I picked up the envelope and walked out to the sitting room, where Arianna and George were seated, enjoying the warmth from a fireplace.

"Do you mind taking me to the post office tomorrow to mail a letter?" I asked quietly, my voice and posture subdued. They both looked at me, concerned.

"Sure, Esme," Arianna said cautiously, as if I were very fragile and the tiniest wrong word would shatter me. Ironic enough, she was probably right. Outwardly, I appeared fine. Inwardly, I was wondering what I was doing.

"Esme," began George. I looked at him blankly. "What's wrong? What has driven you here?" He paused for a second and hurriedly rushed on, "It's not that I'm not happy to see you or that I don't enjoy your company, but you've been so quiet and antisocial. You've been acting like there is something horribly wrong, and, as your hosts, I believe we have a right to know." He was right. Of course he was right. I shouldn't be keeping these things from him. I should tell him what was wrong with me. But I couldn't.

I forced a smile onto my lips. "I feel fine. And the both of you have been very kind to me, and I greatly appreciate it." Only the first part was a lie. And suddenly I was wondering if I should even be here. Not here meaning away from home; I didn't mean that I regretted leaving. Here meaning at my second cousin's house. Rapidly, I was beginning to think I would have been better off if I had gone to stay with complete strangers. True, I couldn't have been as sure of their trustworthiness, but at least they would believe any story I told them.

"Do you miss home?" Arianna whispered quietly. I could do nothing but nod. She had no idea how much I missed my home. "Your mother says that she misses you dearly, she loves you and that she will be coming soon to take you home." I was nodding until the gist of what she had said hit me. My _mother_.

"What?" I gasped. How could she have told my mother I was here? Not that I felt betrayed, but how could she have gotten the word to my mother in such short of a time? I hadn't even been there for two days.

"One of my close friends is a telegraph operator. With his permission, I sent a telegraph to your parents telling them you were here," George said kindly. I was gaping, unjust anger boiling in me.

With a snap, I shut my jaw. They were just concerned. They didn't know why I had left. It wasn't their fault. I let out a deep breath, and my anger dissolved. "Thank you," I murmured quietly, knowing what my next step would be. Overnight, I would escape. I could pack and escape under the cover of night. I would go North; there were more towns that way. I could catch a train or borrow a horse. I didn't care how I got away. I was beyond caring at that point.

Without another word, I left the room, retreating into the spare bedroom they had provided me with. I knew I was being rude, and ungrateful, that they really did love me and everything they did was for my best interest. Or at least it was in their eyes. I crossed the room and sat on the bed, first ripping up the envelope frustratedly, and then just sitting with my head in my hands. The mailing of the letter would have to wait. A lot of things would have to wait. I placed my hand on my stomach, knowing there was life inside me, but unable to feel it. Someday, in about eight months, I would not be alone in this world. What would I do then? How could I provide for a baby and myself with no help?

I dropped my hand away, suddenly blinking back tears. Oh, God, whatever you have in store for me, please save my baby.

_By the way, the next chapter will be a big jump into the future. She will be heavily pregnant, almost to her due date, and will be in a town called Ashland, Wisconsin. In case you are wondering, Ashland is on the banks of Lake Superior. I can't say I've been there, but I've been in the genreal area before._

_Thanks for reading. Reviews are golden, and have a great day, everyone._

_Mel._


	15. Chapter 15

_And here is chapter fifteen. Just a recap, I'm skipping to when Esme is heavily pregnant, almost ready to give birth, and has very recently moved further north to Ashland. Thanks for reading and please review!_

I stepped down out of the horse-drawn buggy, clutching the door tightly for support. Walking had become a difficult activity recently; my stomach was seemingly the size of an elephant. My baby was due any time and I had deicded to move north one final time, to live in Ashland. The hosptital in Ashland supposedly was hte best in the area, and I wanted a doctor or two while I was in labor. From what Shea has told me about childbirth, it is an incredibly painful process that no man will ever comprehend.

When I left my second cousins in Milwaukee eight and a half months ago, it truly was a close call. Shea wrote in one of her letters that my mother had returned home, angry and disappointed, ang apparently my second cousins could tell her nothing except that I had disappeared. Although I would have taken comfort in seeing my mother again, I was glad I had left when I did. Ashland seemed to be a nice town--it was gloomy there as well. The gloom and lack of sunshine reminded me of Columbus--maybe that was another reason I had subconsciously decided to move to the area.

The buggy driver graciously handed me my bags. "Do ya' need 'elp?" he asked, eyeing my swollen stomach. I smiled gently at him. He was so kind.

"No, thank you," I told him, handing him his payment for the ride. He grinned at me as he pocketed the money.

"Thanks, Miss," he said with another toothy grin as he climbed back into the driver's seat of the buggy.

I turned away, walking towards the apartment building. I had aranged to rent a small apartment for about a month--I was planning on moving again after my baby was born. The price was minimal, and the owner had lowered it even more when he heard I was pregnant and alone. It had embarassed me to accept his charity, but I did need the lowered price.

A small breeze brushed my hair back and brought with it the chill of winter. I shivered, wrapping my scarf tighter around my neck. I stepped out of the street, onto the sidewalk, stumbling. A pale hand grabbed my arm, pulling me back to my feet. I looked up gratefully into the face of my savior. Familiar golden eyes met my own.

I froze, trapped in my memories.

_Dr. Cullen was unlike anything I had ever seen. His skin was unnaturally pale--the exact opposite of what I was used to seeing. The whiteness of his flesh suggested he had never actually been in sunlight enough to get a tan. But what surprised me--and probably my mother--the most was his attractiveness. The doctor's hair was blond and mostly neat except for a few wavy strands that hung down over his forehead. His eyes were shockingly golden, and were filled with warmth. I could feel my heart beat quicker while I was looking at him, and I blushed slightly at my extreme reaction to his prescense. I had never before reacted like that to a man... and there was no doubt that he was a man, although he looked almost too young to be such a well-respected and well-known doctor._

_

* * *

_

_I inhaled deeply, and smelled something sweet and unusual. It was the smell of a forest after it rains... of the soft mist rising above a lake mysteriously. Was it Dr. Cullen that smelled so good? He stepped closer to me, and reached out to hold my arm still as he administered the shot. I almost recoiled at his touch. His hands were so cold, as though he had just stepped inside from a snowstorm; but it was summer and that excuse made no sense. The last thing I felt was the needle slide into my skin, numbed by his cold hands._

_

* * *

_

_Sadly, I shook my head, and stood. "I'll be fine." No matter how much I wanted to accept his offer, it would be easier if I gathered my will and left now, rather than in front of my father. "Good..." My voice failed and I cleared my throat to try again. "Goodbye, Carlisle," I whispered, wanting to hug him, but refusing to do so._

_He smiled sadly and offered me his hand. I shook it, feeling confused once again at how cold his skin was, and enjoying touching him anyways. I had to practically pry my hand off his with my opposite hand, but I finally let go, turning my back on the attractive doctor, and hobbling ungracefully out of the room. Even though I wanted to desperately, I did not look back._

The stranger wasn't Carlisle, as much as I wished he were. He looked like my doctor from long ago; tall, lean, very pale skin. And of course the beautiful golden eyes. But there were definitely differences. This man had bronze hair, rather than Carlisle's honey blonde, and his facial features were different. Nevertheless, I was shocked into silence at the resemblance. Could he be a relative? A son maybe? My heart hurt at the thought of Carlisle being with another woman.

"Thank you," I whispered to the stranger, but he was gone. Vanished as if he were just a mirage. I looked around, but I couldn't see him anywhere on the sidewalk around me. He had truly vanished.

Had I imagined the entire thing? Was I still that desperate for any reminder of the doctor I had become infatuated all those years ago? Did it really happen, and if so, was that really his son? The young man looked about eighteen. When Carlisle had been my doctor, he had claimed to be thirty, although he looked so much younger. It was possible that the man could be his son... I felt insanely jealous of the woman he had been with to produce such a handsome son, and wrongly so. It wasn't fair of me. Even if the young bronze-haired gentleman was Dr. Cullen's son, it was no business of mine. During our short time knowing each other, Carlisle had been very professional and had not hinted at a romantic interest in me. And he shouldn't have, a small part of me said.

But I wish he had, even though he was probably married and had children, even though he was far too old for me anyways, even though I had been a patient.

_Yes, the stranger was Edward. Yes, he was actually there, and he took off when he realized... well, never mind. You'll find out eventually. Thanks for reading, and reviews are great! Have a wonderful day, everyone!_

_Mel._


	16. Chapter 16

_After I finish this story, I've been thinking about starting an Alice and Jasper story or a Rosalie and Emmett story. Quite frankly, there are plenty of Bella and Edward stories, and I would really have to strive to make mine unique. I wouldn't really have that problem with an AliceXJasper or a RosalieXEmmett. Anyways, this story isn't over yet. Here you go. Chapter sixteen, and thank you for reading._

Sweat dripped from my forehead and I let out another hoarse cry of pain. The nurse gripped my hand tightly, whispering soothing words that I couldn't hear or understand. I was already in my fourth hour of labor and it wasn't done yet. Not even close.

"Dr. Greer," the nurse called and the tall, burly male doctor was immediately in the room, by my bedside with a clipboard, looking very professional. That did nothing to soothe my nerves.

The doctor made some notes on the clipboard and asked the nurse some questions, marking things on his clipboard. Finally, he turned to me. "Miss Evenson," he began.

I hurridly corrected him. "It's Miss Platt," I managed to mutter. Another contraction rattled my body, sapping my strength away.

He smiled calmly. "Miss Platt then. I need to ask you a few simple questions. Can you do that?" he asked.

My temper was already frayed from the pain and I glared at him. Couldn't he do something to numb this pain? "Can't you numb it?" I snapped at him. That's what doctors were for, right?

He smiled sadly. "I'm afraid I can't, Esme. The pain is part of childbirth." He paused and I let out another low moan, clutching my bulging stomach and mentally telling the baby to hurry up. "This is your first child, correct?" I had clamped my jaws together to keep from screaming and I didn't unlock them to reply. I couldn't trust my voice not to yell or begin to cry. Instead, I merely nodded. Dr. Greer made a note on his clipboard. I was starting to become irritated. "How long ago did your water break, Miss Platt?" he asked gently.

I glanced at the clock in the corner of the hospital room. "About four and a half hours ago," I groaned. Shea never told me that labor was _that_ painful. Oh, Shea! I needed her! I wished with all my heart that she was sitting at my bedside, rather than the unknown nurse. She would be so much better at comforting me... she always knew what to say. And here, she would be whispering encouraging words and telling me what a wonderful job I was doing, instead of asking me questions like the Spanish Inquisition. Oh, I missed her.

"She's dilated to seven centimeters," the nurse said, obviously to the doctor rather than me. "This will be over not long from now." Dilated? What did that refer to?

The doctor saw my confusion and told me, "The baby will be born when you are dilated to ten centimeters. You don't have long now, Miss Platt." I groaned as a contraction came. "You are doing very well for a first time mother." He smiled wryly. "Usually by seven centimeters, the first-time mothers are yelling at me." I smiled slightly at that. I had never guessed that this doctor had any kind of a sense of humor.

I wished that it wasn't him, though. Stupidly, I wished that my doctor could have been Carlisle. It was stupid and childish, and I knew that it was a futile wish, anyways. But somehow I had felt so safe, so calm, when Dr. Cullen had treated me. And, in childbirth, feeling safe and calm are two wonderful, although foreign, feelings. But the pessimistic side of me said that I was being foolish--that Carlisle was probably at some large medical institution somewhere in the world, rather than in the small town of Ashland. He certainly was qualified for it.

"Eight centimeters," the nurse announed about fifteen minutes later. Sweat was dripping down my face and the contractions were only becoming stronger and more frequent. Oh, God, get this over with quickly, I mentally begged him.

"You're almost there, Miss Platt," Dr. Greer said encouragingly. I groaned again and gripped my bedrails tightly with my hands. My knuckles were white from the effort. The pain in my leg when I had fell from the tree was nothing compared to the agony of childbirth. Anything Charles had done to me was nothing compared to it, either.

Let my baby be healthy, and let this end, please, God.

"Nine centimeters."

"Miss Platt, when we get to ten, I'm going to tell you to push," the doctor told me while putitng on plastic gloves. "It is going to be hard, but I need you to push when I tell you." I gulped and nodded, my eyes clamped shut. It was almost over, I told myself. You're almost done, Esme. Your baby is almost here.

The contractions were stronger yet and they hurt even more. The back of my neck was soaked with sweat by that time, and I had given up with being quiet. Every time a contraction hit, I would cry out, and the nurse would soothingly stroke the back of my clenched fist. Nothing helped. At that point, even Shea's comfort wouldn't have helped. I couldn't hear what the nurse and doctor were saying. I was so exhausted, but I was held back from sleep by the agonizing contractions. Tears were pouring down my cheeks.

Distantly, I heard the nurse say, "Ten." It didn't compute with my brain until the doctor gently spread my legs.

"Push, Miss Platt," I heard him say.

And I did. I pushed with every ounce of strength that remained in my body. The nurse excitedly exclaimed something, but I couldn't hear her. They both were speaking to me, but I couldn't understand. All I did was push, using everything in my arsonal of energy and sheer determination and willpower. I couldn't even hear myself scream.

But then one sound got through to my ears. The sound of a baby crying.

I craned my neck anxiously, trying to see. "Miss Platt, you have a boy," the doctor said, and handed me a small bundle. I breathlessly took it, and looked down into the face of my son.

The tiny baby was red-faced and screaming as loud as he could, but he was mine. I smiled softly at him and lightly touched a small tuft of brown hair just like mine on the top of his head. My son. I love you, my precious baby, I mentally told him. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you, I promised him silently. You are my whole world.

And then my son coughed--and it was horrible gut-wrenching. Fluid bubbled out of his lips when he coughed. My heartf suddenly was beating rapidly. What was wrong? I looked at the doctor fearfully. He had a stricken expression on his face. "Miss Platt," he said quickly, holding out his hands for my son. I wanted to scream that I would never give up my baby, but I was terrified of what may be wrong. I handed my baby to him, feeling a fierce pain in my chest as I did so.

The doctor yelled something at the nurse, and she quickly left the room, reappearing a second later with several more nurses and a second doctor. The second doctor took my son and fled the room. I cried after him, but he payed no attention. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

But my lack of energy was catching up to me. My lids were starting to droop, and all the willpower in the world can't fight off sheer exhaustion. I slowly, unwillingly fell into a deep sleep, where I had terrible nightmares where I had to relive my baby being ripped from my arms.

_And there you go. I'm no doctor or mother, obviously, but I did my best on the childbirth. Anyways, thanks for reading, and please review! Have a great day!_

_Mel._


	17. Chapter 17

_And here is chapter seventeen... I'm getting closer to the end with every chapter... but no worries, the end is still far off. Well, once I finish this story, should I start the AliceXJasper or RosalieXEmmett? What do you guys think? Thanks for reading. Enjoy._

A boring, plain white ceiling. That was what I saw when I first opened my eyes. Just nothing but a broad expanse of whiteness. Only then did I remember where I was--the hospital--and what had happened. _Where was my son?_ I sat bolt upright in bed, ignoring the soreness in my back and legs, presumably from the childbirth. No one was in the room. I looked down at my arms. I didn't have any needles in my hands. I guess I was free to go. I needed to find my baby.

I clumsily stood from the bed, and limped, determined, to the door, not even caring that I was in a hospital gown. Clutching the gown closer to me so that it wasn't as revealing in the back, I made my way down the hallway, gathering the attention of multiple nurses and doctors. They eyed me strangely, probably wondering who I was and what I was doing. Nevertheless, none of them stopped me in the hall to question me. But when I spotted a familiar face, the face of Dr. Greer, the man who had been in the room at the time of my childbirth, I flung myself forward desperately, seizing his arm to stop him.

"Where..." My voice was raspy and broke. I cleared my throat and whisper brokenly, "Where is my son?" I looked at him anxiously, needing an answer.

He shifted uncomfortably. "He is in room 306. Just down the hall," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing in the direction form which he had just come. I gasped out a breathless 'thank you,' and let go of him, limping forward again. "Miss Platt, you need to know something first..." I wasn't listening to him. All that mattered was me finding my son. Room 306? Why had they put my baby into his own room? Shouldn't he be with me? I reassured myself that they couldn't have put him with me; I had basically passed out. He must have been hungry. I felt a jolt of guilt that I hadn't been the one to give him his first meal, to hold him through his first night.

301... 302... I scanned the numbers outside the doors. Finally! 306. The door to the room was shut, but I pushed it open quickly, my heart thudding in anticipation. My baby, oh my baby. I still needed to think of a name for him. My son...

The room was white, just like every other hosiptal room. It was entirely empty. No, it wasn't. There was a crib-like bed and I could see a small bundle. Instinctively, whether it came from common sense of a maternal urge, I knew it was my son. I crossed the room in a record-breaking time and looked down upon the sleeping face of my child. He was so... beautiful. The tuft of hair was there, like I remembered. His face was round, but not quite as red as it was when I last saw him. If he opened his eyes, I had a feeling they would be like mine--chocolate brown and soft. I smiled and gently stroked my son's cheek with my hand.

A name. I needed to name him. I looked at his angelic, sleeping face and thought. Jacob? No... not quite right. Edmund? Too grown up and old-fashioned, in my opinion. Christopher... I liked Christopher. Or Chris for short. That would work. And his middle name I knew without hesitation. John, after the dedicated friend and husband of Shea's. Since I couldn't name my child after Shea, I did the next best thing--I named him after her husband and our close friend. Christopher John Platt. My baby, my son, my life.

"Miss... you aren't allowed to be in here," said a gentle but stern voice.

I whirled around to face the nurse. There was no way they were taking him away from me again. "I'm staying," I told her firmly. "He's my son."

The nurse's face softened. "I'm here to give him his next round." She held up a baby bottle. The only problem was that it wasn't filled with milk.

I looked at her in confusion. "What is that?" I inquired, pointing at the baby bottle.

"Brandy," she told me. Alchohol? Why were they giving him alchohol?

"Why?" I demanded, flabbergasted.

She looked surprised. "Haven't you heard?"

"Heard _what?"_ I demanded, suddenly beginning to panic. What was wrong?

She stepped towards me, lightly touching my shoulder in a gesture of comfort. I looked at her, stricken, with horror-filled eyes. "He has a lot of fluid in his lungs," she explained quietly. "The fluid has become infected, and the infection is spreading. We don't have the medicine to help him. All we can do is ease his pain and numb it." She lifted up the baby bottle full of brandy, and looked sadly at me.

None of it had sunk it for me. "But why keep him asleep? Isn't his body fighting it?" I asked desperately, clutching the sides of the crib tightly.

"Miss... his body can't fight it. I'm so sorry... your son is dying. He has only about another day to live," she whispered, patting my back gently.

And that was when my entire world shattered.

I sprung away from her wildly, not seeing anything except for the crib and my darling Christopher John, my Chris within it. I whirled away from the nurse, leaned over the side of the crib and pulled my son out of it, clutching him fiercely to my chest. No. No. No._ Please no!_ It couldn't be true. How could I lose him so quickly, so soon after being given him? How could this happen to me? God, what did I do to deserve this? I begged internally for God to save him. Kill me, do anything with me that you please, just save my baby son.

I rocked back and forth on the floor, hugging Chris as close as I could, and sobbing hysterically. I could feel his heartbeat through my own chest, and every beat was like a thousand knives to the gut. He was dying. He was dying. Only a day to live. A day is too short... please, God, just give me more time! I'll do anything! Please! The nurse was shouting something, but I didn't care what she said. It didn't matter. Only my son mattered. Fight, Christopher, fight. Live.

Hands grabbed my shoulders, pulling me back and another set of hands tried to pull my son away from me. I screamed, yelled, begged with all my might and volume. "_No! _Don't touch him! Leave us alone!" I only clutched my baby tighter and sobbed harder, rocking faster. Go away. Go _away. _Finally, the hands released me and they left me be.

I don't know how long I crouched there, holding my entire life in my arms, and crying until my tears ran out and I sobbed dryly. Let my son live, I prayed, let my son live.

_Poor, poor Esme... it is sometimes hard to write the really depressing stuff. But anyways, please review. Thank you all for reading. I appreciate it. :) Have a wonderful day... er, night... er... whatever._

_Mel._


	18. Chapter 18

_I'm skipping Christopher's actual death scene. We all know what happens with that and I don't really feel like writing it. Instead, I'm moving forward about a day and a half. Thanks for reading. Please review, and enjoy._

I had been walking for an hour already. Ashland had become a tiny blotch of buildings far away from me. I couldn't stay in Ashland—not after what happened.

I stopped walking, fighting the inevitable tears. Sure enough, I began to cry steadily. I thought that I would run out of tears within the last day and a half—but they just kept coming. My poor baby. My poor, innocent, beautiful Christopher. Oh, God, I thought, what did I do? What did I do to anger you so? What did _Christopher_ do to deserve death at such a young age? I was sobbing by then, but I stubbornly kept walking, determined to put Ashland and all that had happened behind me.

But it won't work, Esme, a voice said mulishly in the back of my head. You can never forget what happened to Christopher. And you don't want to.

As much as I hated what the voice said, I knew it was right. No matter how far I walked, or how much I prayed, he wasn't coming back ever. I would never see him face again, never be able to watch him grow old and become a man.

He's safe now, the annoying voice said soothingly. He's in heaven. He's happy now, and he's safe, Esme.

Once again, the voice was right. But I didn't care. I didn't want my baby to be safe in heaven, I wanted him to be safe with me. I knew it was selfish, but it didn't matter at all to me. It was as if my entire heart had been ripped out of me. He had been my entire world and still was everything to me. Oh, my darling Christopher…

I stopped walking again as grief consumed me. I would never see him again… my baby was gone forever. What was left in this world for me? I couldn't go home; I didn't even know what was my home anymore. It was as if God were telling me my role on this Earth was finished, that I wasn't needed any longer. Oh, God, above all things, just please reunite me with Christopher.

And then suddenly, I realized that I had the ability reunite myself with my baby son.

I started walking again, contemplating. If I did… I would leave this life forever. I had no problems with that; I had figuratively died with my son. I could be with him again, hold him in my arms and love him. That was worth any price I had to pay. Shea, John, my family…I would miss them dearly, but giving them up was a small price to pay. Besides, I would always watch over them. Always. People say that the love a mother has for her child is unmatched. I didn't understand it until my child was ripped away. The love a mother has for her child is the willingness to die for the child. And I was ready and willing.

I silently made my decision, and set off again, with a steely resolve. I changed my direction, and started climbing uphill, towards the tall cliff that overlooked Ashland. I would take my destiny into my own hands. Christopher, my baby, I am coming for you, I thought. God, is this what you want from me?

I proceeded with climbing the steep ascent, savoring my last few minutes of life, reliving some of my favorite memories, mentally saying goodbye to all that I loved.

Above all, it pained me that I could make no final goodbye to Shea. She would want it, I wanted it, and furthermore, she deserved it. But it was impossible. Hopefully, word of my death would reach her ears, and she would forgive me for it. My heart ached. Goodbye, my sister, I mentally told her, and I closed my eyes, reliving the last time I had seen her, when I was boarding the train all the way back in Columbus. Her embrace was the last one I had received, and that simple fact pleased me, somewhat. She wouldn't know that, but it felt right to me that the last hug I had received from a person came from my best friend. I knew she would survive my death. She would do just fine.

She would miss me greatly, of course, and I would miss her, but she would be happy in life. She had her children, and John, who would watch over her for the remainder of her life. That comforted me. Maybe I would have found it harder to leave Columbus if I hadn't know that Shea would be perfectly fine without me. She would live to be a great old age, and watch her children have children and eventually would leave the world like I was about to.

I finally made it to the top of the cliff. I stepped forward, adrenaline coursing through my veins as I stood on the edge of the two-to-three hundred foot high drop. I curled my toes over the edge of it, and closed my eyes.

"Goodbye, Shea. I love you," I whispered into the gently wind that was swirling around my neck. "Goodbye, John, William, Anne, Felicity, I love you all too. Goodbye, Mother and Father; I'm sorry about never explaining things to you." I paused. It felt stupid, for he had surely forgotten me, but I had never forgotten him. Nevertheless, I added quietly, "Goodbye, Carlisle. I never forgot you." And I never would. I would watch over him, as well, from heaven.

And I flung myself forward off the edge.

_A very saddening chapter, and also a bit shorter than normal. Sorry about the shorter part. But anyways, thanks for reading! The next chapter will cover her change and first few seconds in her 'new life' *insert dramatic music* Have a great day._

_Mel._


	19. Chapter 19

_And here is the next chapter! Thanks for reading, everyone, and I really appreciate reviews. Hope you all enjoy it._

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

My heart was beating slowly, weakly inside my chest, providing me with the smallest of reassurances that I was still alive. I couldn't feel anything below my wasit--was this what dying felt like? Just a frozen numbness that eased the majority of your pain? I couldn't tell if I was even conscious or not--it didn't matter much to me anyways. I knew my time was approaching. Oh, my baby, Mommy will be only a few moments away.

A few excruciating moments away.

Everything above my waist felt like someone was carefully severing every bone in my body, one at a time. I would have been screaming--but I couldn't control any part of my body, let alone my vocal chords. Was this how you got to heaven? In pain? I was slightly worried--maybe suicide was a greater sin that I had thought. No, I reassured myself. You didn't do it out of selfishness. You did it for your son. But was killing one's self to be with a deceased loved one selfish? I did it in his best interest--right? Not my own?

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

This was taking a long time, I thought to myself. Shouldn't my heart have stopped beating? Shouldn't the searing pain in my torso start dimming? Or was that my punishment--to have to feel this pain in retrun for my suicide.

And through the haze, I heard the most beautiful sound.

The soft melody of a baby laughing. And instinctively, I knew it was _my _baby. Christopher?

I felt cool breath on my forehead and I desperately tried to open my eyes, to look my son in the eye. It had to be him, right? But I couldn't gain control of any part of me. Christopher, baby, is that you?

"It isn't your time yet," a beautiful voice whispered in my ear, softly moving strands of hair away from my neck. It sounded so elegant, so sophisticated. Surely that couldn't be Christopher... he was only a baby. Chris, my love, is that you?

_Thump.. Thump.. Thump.._

"It isn't your time yet," the voice said again. "And the time will never come." Never come? What? Everyone had a time to die--right? Everyone had to die eventually? Then how was my time never coming? And suddenly, an icy chilliness set over me. Did he mean my time to die, or my time to get into heaven? Could he possibly mean that I was barred from heaven's gates forever? That I would be doomed to rest in hell for eternity? No, God, please! I'm sorry for all my sins! I'm sorry that I killed myself! Let me be with Christopher, please!

"Don't worry, Mom," the voice said soothingly. "I love you." My heart leapt. My boy... he sounded all grown up, like I imagine him sounding when he was an adult. My baby. Maybe heaven was like that--that when a baby died, he grew up in heaven. The thought comforted me, somewhat. But more than anything else, I wanted to open my eyes, to look at the child I had lost and was close to regaining and losing again.

"I love you. But your time will never come. Mom, don't worry, I'll always be with you." The voice was growing softer, as if my son was walking away. No! Chris! Come back! I would have sobbed endlessly if I could have. "Live for me, Mom. Live for both of us." I will, I mentally promised him desperately, just stay with me, Christopher John. My baby. Stay with me.

_Thump... Thump... Thump..._

"I love you," he whispered one more time, and he was gone. I don't know how I knew he was gone--but I did. The searing pain in my chest returned as if he had been shielding me from it. Was I doomed to hell? What did he mean by live for him, if I was dead. Well, almost dead.

_Thump..... Thump..... Thump....._

I felt something cool lightly touch my forehead, cheeks and neck. I would have shivered away from the cold if I could have moved. Something pricked at the side of my neck, and then it was as if someone had lit me on fire. The flames burst from pricking poing up the side of my neck, consuming at my flesh. If I had control of my body, I would have been screaming and writhing and tearing at my own skin. Why was I burning so?

_Thump...... Thump...... Thump......._

And then the most terrifying thought occured to me: was this hell? Was this the firey gate of hell? Christopher! No! God, please! I'm sorry! I begged for mercy internally, begged for the flames to leave me alone. Worse, they were spreading lower along my body, licking down my sides to my hips, burning away skin as they went. God, please....

In my head, I saw the last memory of my son replayed over and over, taunting me. His small pale face... his chest rising and falling for the last time... his small hand holding my finger going limp...

God, please! No! My worst memory, teasing me ruthlessly as the fire consumed my body. It had reached the numb places--I had hoped that the numbness in my legs would protect them, but the fire blazed through the numbness, alighting my entire frame ablaze. What was this? Was it eating my every cell, burning away every piece of flesh I had?

_Thump....... Thump........ Thump........._

_

* * *

_

I lost all sense of time; I could have been ablaze for years or decades or centuries or maybe even seconds. Time had lost concept for me. But, most reasuring of all, the flames were slowly dying away. Had God decided that I didn't deserve hell? Had I been saved? Was I going to heaven instead? Or, the most frightening of all, was that just the first round of hell? Oh, Christopher...

_Thump! Thump! Thump!_

My heartrate, which had slowed dramatically, almost to the point where it stopped completely, had started to pick up again and was rapidly increasing in velocity and speed. It felt like my heart was literally going to leap out of my chest.

_ThumpThumpThump!_

"Almost there," a voice said from afar. I jolted in shock, and was even more surprised that my body actually moved. Who was that? I distantly remembered hearing the voice before, but I couldn't recognize it.

_tumpthumpthumpthumpthump.................................................................._

And my heart stopped beating, the fire receding even quicker. My heart stopped _beating._ Was I dead for sure now? I must be in either heaven or hell... the voice I had heard was too angelic to be a devil or demon... suddenly, I was filled with the impropable hope that I was indeed in heaven.

"She's done," the voice said again exactly as the fire left my toes. I felt the matress beneath me--matress? where was I?--as someone put their weight on it.

"Esme," a different voice said softly. "Open your eyes."

And I did, because I recognized the second voice. I looked up into a face I hadn't seen in years--a face I had dreamed of, more than once.

Carlisle. My lips wordlessly formed the word.

_And there you go. Hopefully it was okay. I was basing the hell/heaven concept on what I think Esme would believe not what I believe. But thanks for reading and please review. Have a great day._

_Mel_


	20. Chapter 20

_And here is the next chapter! Today I'm home sick with some sort of stomach bug. It completely sucks and I'd rather be at school, but at least I can squeeze in a few more updates today. Hahaha. Thanks for reading and please review._

"Carlisle." I blinked in shock at my own voice—it had never sounded like that before. It was so soothing, smooth and silky. Why was my voice so different? Was that normal for being in heaven? I supposed it was. I glanced at Carlisle, studying him carefully, and felt another wave of shock course through me.

My memory, carefully preserved, did him absolutely no justice. The difference between how I remembered him and how he looked then was the difference between a monkey and an elephant. Everything was clearer now—like I had suddenly been granted better eyesight. Another benefit of heaven, I guess. But the weirdest thing was that he had not aged a single day. He looked exactly like he had ten years ago. Surely that wasn't a side effect of being an angel. His golden eyes were very cautious when he looked at me, and his lips were pressed tightly together as if he were very tensed. I felt my back tighten up instinctively as I scanned the room, looking for whatever had made him so nervous.

My eyes fell upon another familiar face—a bronze-haired, golden eyed, beautiful man that looked about six years younger than me. The man that I had run into when I was heavily pregnant and just arriving in Ashland. The man that had to be Carlisle's son.

Son.

Where was my son?

"Christopher!" I gasped out loud, flinching at the sound of my own voice and how… beautiful and not me it sounded. I scanned the room quickly, even quicker than I thought possible, sitting upright in the bed and widening my eyes in shock at how I moved. It was like there was no delay between when I briefly considered sitting and when I was actually upright. Even more shocking, I saw the bronze-haired man step towards me the instant I considered sitting. Odd. But nothing could distract me enough that I forgot what I was here for—my baby. "Where is he?"

"Esme…" the un-named man said slowly, softly as if he were afraid of me. "Your son isn't here. This isn't heaven. You're still… on Earth." I looked at him blankly, not understanding.

"No—he has to be here," I said persistently. I had killed myself—I had jumped off that cliff. It was a fuzzy memory, but I could remember it enough to know that I had leapt off that cliff. I had died. This couldn't be hell—Carlisle was here. And if it wasn't hell, it was heaven, and my son had to be around somewhere. Why was he hiding from me? "Chris?" I asked tentatively. "Baby, come out. Please. It's not funny." I could feel fear and anxiety flooding my senses. Where was my son?

I saw a movement from the corner of my eye and I was instantly on my feet on the floor, panicking. Carlisle was looking at me warily with one hand outstretched. I could feel a growl vibrating in my throat, and I was beyond stunned. A growl? What was I? A savage animal? I looked at my palms quickly, and screamed aloud. My hands, my fingers, my arms… they were whiter than snow. I had always been tan, but even in the blackest of winters, I had never gotten this white. What was I? God, please, explain!

A small breeze floated through the open window, carrying with it the most delectable of scents. A fire in the back of my throat erupted suddenly, and I suddenly was at the window, ripping it open, not knowing anything except that I _needed_ to get whatever it was. A pair of arms seized me, yanking me back away from the window and the appetizing smell. I snarled and writhed, pulling away from the binding arms, only to be restricted again by another pain of arms.

"Shut the window, Carlisle!" the bronze-haired man yelled. I pulled desperately away from him, trying to get to the window before it was shut. If he closed it, I could break through it so easily, I knew.

Before I could blink, Carlisle had slammed the window closed and was tightly gripping my upper arm. I was snarling and growling at him, beyond controlling myself; I could only feel the fire in the back of my throat screaming at me to get to the smell. I had no idea what it was, only that I _needed_ it.

"Esme, stop breathing," Carlisle's breathless voice hissed into my ear. It was unnerving to hear his beautiful voice so tensed, so desperate. But when the words computed in my brain, I was instantly confused. Stop breathing? But my trust in Carlisle won over the absurdity of the command; I held my breath and surprisingly, I didn't feel light-headed or dizzy from the lack of oxygen.

"What am I?" I cried desperately, mentally replaying my savage and violent response to a simple smell. I was careful not to inhale again; the fire was dimming slightly and I didn't want to ignite it again.

"You're a vampire," Carlisle's possible son told me bleakly.

I wanted to laugh, to deny it, to prove it wasn't true. But I had felt the… urge, the thirst, and I knew it was the truth. But what did that mean for me? Was I going to become a killing machine, a soul-less monster that was forever banned from heaven, and my beautiful angelic son? Did I _have _to kill people?

"No," the man said again. "You don't need to kill people. Carlisle and I survive on animals alone. You don't need to kill to survive. And…" He paused and looked at me cautiously. When he resumed speaking, his tone was softer. "You're immortal, Esme. Which means that you'll never die…" His voice trailed off, and I knew what he didn't say.

I would never die, which meant I would never see Christopher again.

My knees collapsed, and only Carlisle's tight grip on my arm kept me upright. I was sobbing—but no tears were falling. Somehow, that emphasized how inhuman I was, and I cried harder. God, oh, God, please have mercy. Kill me now before I kill someone. Before I become a monster. Christopher, my baby, is this what you mean by my time will never come? Is this what you meant? That I would never die? I'm so sorry… I was gasping in the still slightly-scented air, setting the fire in the back of my throat aflame again. It wasn't as strong that time, maybe because the scent wasn't as strong, but my sorrow left no room for animalistic thirst.

"Kill me," I begged Carlisle. "Kill me, please." I looked up at his face, so beautiful and so pained. I felt sorry for being the cause of that pain, but my grief was greater.

"Esme," he replied softly, pulling me to my feet by my arm. I faced him warily, still sobbing hard. "I can't." His voice was a soft, sad whisper and he slowly hugged me, eyeing me as if to make sure I didn't snap and hurt him. Once I was in his arms, I broke down into hysterics and began screaming. All he did was lightly touch my hair and cry silently along with me.

_Hopefully the small amount of CarlisleXEsme angsty fluff pleased you guys. Thanks for reading. Next chapter will probably take place after Esme's first hunt. Just an FYI, she will be really angsty for the next few chapters as she gets over her son's death. Please review._

_Mel._


	21. Chapter 21

_And here is the twenty-first chapter! Whoa, it seems like just yesterday when I started writing this story. Hahaha. Thanks for reading ____ and please review. Enjoy!_

I sat on the couch with my head in my hands, distraught. I had just returned with Carlisle and the bronze-haired man, who I learned was named Edward, from my first… hunting trip. I was a monster. There was no other word for it. It disgusted me to think that I had been sucking the blood of a bear and some deer and _enjoying _it.

Even worse, and so much so, I had killed a human.

How could I have destroyed someone's life? Even unintentionally, even though Carlisle and Edward assured me that the bloodlust wasn't my fault, I had still _butchered_ a girl—she had to be only thirty—who was nearby during the hunt. Her husband had witnessed it, and then we had a double murder on out hands. Well, my hands, actually. Carlisle and Edward had tried to restrain me, but there was little they could do, especially since I was so strong and Edward was having issues restraining himself as well.

I wonder if Christopher was watching me from heaven and was disgusted with what I had done. With what I had become. Chris, baby, I'm so sorry. This is my entire fault. I shouldn't have killed that woman and her husband. I shouldn't have jumped off the cliff. I shouldn't be here.

"It's not your fault," Edward said quietly as he sat beside me. I was once again unnerved by how well he knew what I was worrying over. He smiled slightly. "Carlisle didn't tell you. I can read minds."

I was in too much remorse to display proper shock. It did startle me—but I simply nodded and stared at the floor, disgusted with myself. "It is my fault," I argued quietly, hating how beautiful and unnatural my voice was. I had avoided mirrors completely; after I had accidentally seen my reflection in a puddle, I had strongly evaded ever seeing it again. Every glimpse of my reflection emphasized what I was. What I had done.

"Every newborn vampire loses control," he disagreed gently. "I did." I looked up at him, my eyes bleak. Nothing he could say would help me feel better. He sighed again. "Christopher wouldn't want you to be like this."

Instantly, I was on my feet, my hands wrapped around his throat in a choke-hold. Red-hot fury swept over me. "Don't say his name," I snarled, tightening my grip on his neck. He hadn't moved during the entire process—he was regarding me, his eyes full of pity. I hated that pity. The instant the furious thought crossed my mind, his eyes lost every glimpse of it.

"I'm sorry," he said gently. "Esme, let go." And I did—with a sharp, horrified gasp, as I realized what I had just done. I slumped back onto the couch, my horrible red eyes unseeing, glazed over. I had never been so violent! First I had killed two innocent people, and now I was choking the life out of one of my only allies because he mentioned my… dead son. I hated myself, I realized with a strong sense of revulsion. Christopher deserved a better mother. One that he could be proud of, watching her from heaven. I was positive he was disgusted by my behavior. Chris, baby, I'm sorry. I love you.

"Esme," Edward said sharply, seizing my shoulders and shaking me. "He _is _proud of you. What person wouldn't be?" His comforting words did little to help me. My body was shaking with suppressed sobs. "Esme, do this for your son. He's watching you from heaven, and he would want you to be as happy as possible. He wouldn't want you to be grieving over him, or the things that are out of your control. He would want you to live for him."

His words struck a chord inside me—they echoed the words I had heard during my… fiery transformation. The words that I had imagined to be my son—all grown—had murmured into my ear. Christopher, I'm sorry, I thought again. I'll try harder. I'll live for you. I'll be a mother you can be proud of.

"He'll be proud of you, Esme," Edward said quietly, placing a hand on my shoulder comfortingly. He paused for a moment, cocking his head to one side, looking like a dog who heard a sound from far away. "We're going to leave tonight, Carlisle says. He says we are moving to Ranier, Washington. He already has a house there. Small town, recently opened hospital."

The prospect of moving west would have once excited me; now it barely sparked an interest. Part of me didn't want to leave Ashland—so much had happened in that small town. Part of me would always consider Ashland home, just as another part still considered Columbus, Ohio home. "Okay." I didn't have anything to pack—all my clothes were given away once I 'died of post-childbirth complications.' Edward was the one to find me at the base of the cliff—he and Carlisle were the only ones who knew that I had jumped.

"We can get you clothes when we arrive," Edward promised.

"It will be no trouble," Carlisle added as he entered the room, carrying a small medicinal bag. "We don't need to bring furniture, either. The house in Ranier has it all. Of course, the last time I lived there was in 1895, so the furniture might be outdated."

"Won't people recognize you? Thirty-five years or so isn't that long," Edward pointed out. "Won't they realize you haven't aged a day?" He paused. "Oh, that makes sense."

I looked at him in confusion. Carlisle caught my befuddled look and added in his beautiful voice that set my heart fluttering—metaphorically speaking—"I can claim to be Carlisle Cullen Sr's son, if anyone asks. Edward usually poses as my dead wife's younger brother, but now that your one of us... That is, assuming you want to travel with us. You don't have to, you know, Esme."

"I'll go." Of course I would—where else could I go? In addition, I didn't want to leave Carlisle again. I saw the corners of Edward's mouth lift up in a smile. Oh, please don't tell him, Edward. I don't want him to know yet. The smallest perceivable nod of his head assured me my secret 'crush' would go unmentioned to its unknowing recipient.

"You could pose as my sister, or my wife. It's entirely up to you. Edward could pose as my nephew, if you decide to be my sister, or our son, if you…" His voice trailed off and he sounded awkward. I wanted people to think of me as his wife, but how could I do that if Carlisle didn't necessarily want me like that? It would be unfair to him and to me. But to pose as his _sister…_ I mentally shuddered.

"She could pose as your fiancé or girlfriend," Edward helpfully suggested. "That way we wouldn't have to fabricate wedding papers. And I could be her younger brother. Say our parents are dead, and she has to look after me. Would that work?" I nodded, wondering if Carlisle and I would have to hold hands or other things to convince the humans of our relationship. Sinfully, I crossed my fingers and hoped that we would.

"That'll work," Carlisle said confidently. "All right. Story: Esme and I are engaged to be married. Esme, you are Edward legal guardian. He is eighteen, but wished to move with us anyways. We previously lived in New York City, where I received my degree in medicine. Edward, your last name and Esme's last name need to be the same; use Platt."

Platt. My old last name, before I was married to Charles. When I was young, carefree. When I met Carlisle. I wondered if he even knew if I had been married. I saw Edward shaking his head. Oh. I wonder how he would react when he learned about that. Selfishly, I wanted him to be jealous, to want me like I wanted him. But realistically, I doubted that he ever would.

_Low self-esteem, I know. But would you really expect the doctor that you had when you were sixteen (and developed an undying crush on) to want to marry you when you ran into him (and got turned into a vampire by him) ten years later? Nope, me either. Thanks for reading and please review._

_Mel._


	22. Chapter 22

_I have a three day weekend! Yay! But I have some homework to make up for when I was home sick a few days ago. Not so yay. Geometry=yuck. But enough of me, here is the next chapter. I thought a long time about how they would get to Ranier—cars were _very _unusual and expensive and slow and there were no roads. In addition, airplanes hadn't yet become a common form of transportation. They only had horses and trains, and vampires run faster than both of those, plus newborn Esme can't be around humans. So enjoy, thanks for reading, and please review._

"The Rockies," Carlisle said to me as I gaped up at the giant, snow covered mountains in awe. I had never seen anything so big and my enhanced vision enabled me to see clearly to the very top, obscured by clouds. It was magnificent.

"They're huge," I gasped, still awe-struck, and slightly embarrassed by how childishly fascinated I seemed. "They reach all the way up to…" Heaven. I couldn't say the word—it instantly caused my chest to ache for my baby son. I was trying—with everything I had—but grief isn't a process you can speed up—only slow down.

Edward lightly touched my shoulder in silent comfort, and I found myself grateful for him being there. Carlisle and I hadn't really talked much since my transformation—I had avoided him for fear of awkwardness and he hadn't really sought me out, to my intense disappointment. But Edward had been my crutch—he had been there every step of the way, knowing exactly what to say. If it weren't for him I would have given up long before then.

"We cross these," Carlisle told me. "I've done it before, and everything is harder the first time. All you have to do is head in the direction of the setting sun and stay away from human settlements." I winced and ducked my head, recalling the last two humans I had ran into. "Esme, we'll try our hardest prevent it from happening again. I should have been more prepared," he apologized gently.

I slowly shook my head. It wasn't his fault—he wasn't the one to snap the humans' necks in two and then drain them of every ounce of blood in their body. Edward frowned, as if to say it wasn't my fault either, but I knew it was. Don't humor me, Edward. "When we get to Ranier," I said slowly, suddenly realizing a flaw in the plan. "Won't I be around humans a lot then?" My voice was filled with fear—not for myself or for my conscience, but _of _me. I was scared by myself—of what I could do and get away with oh so easily.

Carlisle smiled reassuringly. "The house I own isn't in the town—it's about seven miles outside the town. Far away from the town that the humans shouldn't be a problem. It's fairly well hidden so that few find it, even the adventurous ones. You'll be fine, Esme."

I nodded, feeling more confident, and followed Carlisle closely when he started running again. Running as a vampire was a wonderful thing—it was like we were built for speed. Faster than a horse, faster than a cheetah, which I had never seen in person but had heard about. So fast that no human or animal or natural thing could see or sense us move. The wind would whistle past my ears, slapping my hair away from my neck and my dress away from my legs. Edward was the fastest of the three of us, and I was only slightly faster than Carlisle—because of the newborn strength Edward had told me about. I was slightly relieved when he added that it would fade over a year's time because I did not like being the strongest member; it made me feel scared because they could do nothing to stop me if I was so much stronger than them.

As we climbed higher and higher, over ridge after ridge, hour after hour, even at our breakneck speed, the air grew purer, untainted by civilization. I loved it up in the mountains, I realized. It was so clean, so unpolluted. It made me feel free again, like I was young and unburdened by things like my humanity and unrequited love. Like I was back in Columbus, climbing apple trees with Shea and John. I sighed sadly, wishing I could go back in time and really appreciate those days, more than I could while I was living them.

"Do you miss your old life?" Edward asked quietly, not that volume would affect anything. We were moving at too quick a speed for wildlife to hear us—and Carlisle could hear Edward just as well as I could.

"Sometimes," I answered back softly. "I wish for so many things to be different. But not my son. I never will regret him, or the actions in my life that lead me to having him." Every minute of the three days I had spent with him, I had relived over and over, branding it permanently into my memory so it would never fade along with the rest of my human memories. It was the least I could do for him. I sighed. "But I was dying anyways. My life was already over." But not my life in heaven, I thought, and instantly regretted it. I didn't blame Carlisle for what happened to me—in many ways, he had saved me. I knew now that I would have regretted my decision to die if I had actually died. I knew now that Christopher wouldn't have wanted his mother with him—if he loved me, like I knew any child would love their mother, he would want me to be happy. I couldn't deny him that. I knew that if I had died, I wouldn't have wanted my mother to kill herself.

"I was dying as well," Edward told me. I looked at him, interested. He had never talked about his human life before. "Spanish influenza. My mother…" He stopped and took a deep breath, obviously still grieving. It was my turn to comfort; I touched his shoulder as he had done earlier to me. "She had died before me, but Carlisle saved me." Saved. Did I think that Carlisle had saved me, or damned me? I knew that if it was the latter, I didn't blame him, but did I believe the latter? I wasn't sure.

Very suddenly, Carlisle spun around, his usually gentle face hard. "Run," he hissed to Edward, and he immediately took off in the opposite direction. Left with only me, he approached me warily. "Don't breathe," he warned ominously, but it was too late.

I had inhaled right before he said it, and the sweet, hypnotic scent that I had recently realized were humans hit my nostrils, igniting the fire in my throat that directed my body, managed my senses. I stopped running like I had struck a brick wall, and inhaled again, no longer in control of myself. Carlisle grabbed both of my arms, attempting to wrestle me back against a tree, but I was far too strong for him. I threw his arm off, crazed, and sprung in the direction of the impending humans. I heard his rapid footsteps behind me, but it was too late.

There were about six or seven of them—men, carrying backpacks and gear, like they were scouting for something. They didn't have time to look up before I had attacked one, pinning him to the ground and sinking my teeth in furiously to his neck. Sucking desperately, I pulled the man's body towards me, the fire flaming hotter in my throat. As his warm blood flowed down the back of my throat, the fire's heat became cooler, the horrible burning eased slightly. Within only a few seconds, the man had been drained completely of blood. The fire in the back of my throat was still thirsty, egging me to kill again. I sprang up from beside the man's blood-soaked body, facing the remaining group of humans that had only just realized what had happened to their companion. I bared my teeth, and tensed my muscles to spring, but a hand held me back. I snarled and whipped around, fully prepared to rip their arm off.

"Do you want to be a monster, Esme?" Carlisle asked gently as the humans slowly—for a vampire—turned tail and ran away. His words barely got through to my brain, but when they did, it was as if a meteor had struck me on the head. The fire was begging me to chase after them, to kill and drain another, but I used every ounce of resolve I had to stand there, to not move.

Carlisle could tell when the fight had left my body; he released my arm when he was absolutely positive that I wouldn't run off. When he did, it was like my spine had been ripped out of my back; I collapsed limply, horrified, to the blood-soaked, death-tainted earth, crying inhumanly, not even able to produce tears.

_In case you were wondering, he told Edward to leave because Edward is only a few years older than Esme, and has barely better self-control than she does. He has enough to run and hold his breath if he can't smell the humans, but not enough to resist if he runs into them while thirsty. Thanks for reading. Please review, and have a great day._

_Mel._


	23. Chapter 23

_Thank you so much to everyone who reads this, and extra special thanks to my reviewers. I love you guys. :) All right, one last thing before the chapter. Once the story is finished, I am going to post three bonus chapters—two in Carlisle's point of view, and one in Edwards. I might actually do more than that, but for now I'm only planning on three. I've already decided on Edward's chapter, and one of Carlisle's. But the second chapter in Carlisle's point of view, I am leaving up to you guys. Let me know which one you would like to have in his point of view. And here is the story._

"What do you think?" Carlisle asked me, as we faced his house outside of Ranier. It was certainly beautiful—gorgeous architecture. A large brick chimney, plain white windowsills, and a light beige coat of paint over the wooden frame. It had to be a two story home—probably with a basement, as well—and looked not extraordinarily large, but certainly spacious enough for three people.

"It's beautiful," I told him half-heartedly, my tone morose; I was berating myself over the mountains incident. Why couldn't I just restrain myself like Carlisle did, or even Edward did? Why did I have to be so uncontrolled and monstrous? "I like it," I added, trying to sound more convincing without any success.

"Not your fault," Edward reminded me quietly, referring to the incident in the mountains.

"It really isn't, Esme," Carlisle told me softly, his golden eyes gentle. Right then, I resented those beautiful golden eyes. Mine were still crimson from consuming human blood—why couldn't I be as controlled as Carlisle?

"How many humans have you killed?" I snapped as a retort, my tone harsh. I immediately regretted speaking so rudely to him, but I didn't take the words back.

He hesitated before replying, "None."

I couldn't speak. He was so… perfect, gentle and controlled and polite and generous and beautiful. But I was the opposite… uncontrolled, savage, and inhuman and… so undeserving of his affections, should he have any for me.

"Let's see the inside of the house," Edward suggested lightly, probably to distract me from my own pessimistic thoughts.

Carlisle nodded, and lead both of us forward through the front door. Edward paused momentarily to whisper low in my ear, "Remember Chris." I visibly winced, and glowered at him furiously. That is supposed to make me feel _better,_ Edward? He shook his head, adding in the same low voice, "He would want you to be happy, Esme."

I ignored him, determined to not be drawn out of my sullen mood, and instead studied the sitting room. It was simple, but elegant at the same time. I was surprised that a doctor would have such a sense of style, but then again, it wasn't as hard to believe as a vampire doctor. It was a basic set-up; a small light beige couch faced the front door, slightly off to the side. Perpendicular to it, resting against the wall, was another small couch. The walls were painted different shades of blue, and were quite beautiful. The most prominent feature of the room was the granite fireplace opposite the first couch, on the same wall as the front door. I had fallen in love with the house already.

"Carlisle," Edward said suddenly. "I think I'm going to go hunting. I'll see you both later."

"Do you want me to go with you?" Carlisle asked, sounding slightly confused. I was too—we had gone hunting just two days previously. He shouldn't be thirsty already.

He shook his head. "I'll avoid the town. I know where it is." Carlisle nodded once, and Edward was out the front door.

The air suddenly turned awkward. Dipping my head to evade Carlisle's gaze, I crossed the room to sit on the couch, stretching my legs out in front of me. He followed me, sitting beside me, far enough away that no part of us touched. Since the mountains, he hadn't touched me at all, in any sort of gesture, even a friendly hand on the shoulder like Edward was always doing.

"You've been quiet," he said eventually. I could tell he was looking at me, but I didn't meet his gaze.

"I've been… thinking things over." It wasn't a lie—I had been obsessing with my self-control, fixating on trying to live up to what I believed Christopher would want me to be, and, of course, wondering about Carlisle's affections for me. He just didn't need to know what I was thinking about.

"Esme…" He lightly touched my chin, moving my head so I was looking at him. "What happened to you? The last time I saw you… you were so happy, so carefree. And then, when Edward brought you to me, barely breathing…" His voice trailed off.

I took a deep breath. "I got married," I said simply, holding his gaze steadily. "I didn't want to, but my mother convinced me and instigated the relationship." I purposely didn't mention why I didn't want to marry—that I was still crushing on him. "He… abused me. I had bruises all over my body… It lasted for a while, until he was drafted for the war. I was happy for a while… but then he came back. And the abuse was so much worse. I found out I was pregnant… I had to leave. I couldn't let a baby into that household.

"And so I just left. I stayed anywhere I could think of. I finally made it to Ashland, and I had the baby. My son, Christopher. He lived for exactly three days…" I had took take a deep breath to steady myself before continuing in the same, heartbroken tone. "And then I thought how, if I died, I could be with him in heaven. I jumped off a cliff… and then woke up like I was on fire. The rest you know," I finished lamely, looking at him, bleakly curious as to what his response would be.

It wasn't what I expected. He moved closer to me, sliding an arm around me, hugging me to his side, in a sweet gesture of comfort. I exhaled slowly, closing my eyes, and relaxed into his side, content.

"Esme," he said tenderly, his voice full of… affection? "I'm so sorry. I had no idea… You were so young, so beautiful, so lovely at sixteen. A real lady, but you weren't afraid to speak what you thought. You have changed so much… but not so much that I don't still love you." My breath caught in my throat.

"You loved me?" my voice was quiet, tensed.

"I didn't know it," he said musingly, his golden eyes thoughtful. "But now I do. And I still feel the same way. Esme…" He said my name so gently, like it was a blessing. He was a blessing. I loved him, too. And I wasn't going to rush anything—I was happy with just being in his arms for eternity.

_Ahh, I love happy scenes! But this story isn't over quite yet. :) Thank you for reading, and please review! Also, let me know what you think about the bonus chapter in Carlisle's POV that I mentioned above. Have a great day, everyone._

_Mel._


	24. Chapter 24

_And here is the next chapter! Their relationship will be moving pretty slowly, for apparent reasons. (Esme isn't over the events in her life that led her to becoming a vampire.) But there will be some light, fluffy scenes up ahead, as well as some darker, more depressing ones. Thank you for reading, and please review. Enjoy._

"How do you do it?" I asked him quietly, curling up on the couch so my legs were against my chest and my arms were wrapped around my knees in a fetal position.

Carlisle looked at me seriously, thinking, before he replied, "Hundreds of years of practice. Now, I barely notice the smell of blood on patients. It's like I've become extraordinarily desensitized to the smell, like it doesn't hold any power over me anymore." He touched my cheek gently. "You'll get there someday, Esme. It can be done."

I looked down at the floor. My next question was much more serious, and in demand of an honest answer. "Do you think that we… are damned?" I looked at him, my face alive with hope. I honestly had no idea of what to think on that subject—hopefully his point of view would shed some new insight for me or at least comfort me.

His face was lost in thought for a long moment, his hand still resting on my cheek. Finally, he answered, "Yes and no. I believe heaven and hell exist for us, and that, should we die, we will end up in one or the other. I've dedicated my life to the dream of the former."

"I disagree," Edward said quietly as he entered through the front door. "Maybe they exist… maybe they don't. But for our kind, I'm positive that they don't. How could a vampire expect to be admitted in heaven? We are the opposite of heavenly beings—if anything, we represent the deepest pits of hell."

I looked at him, blinking slowly as I considered his answer. In more ways than one, I truly agreed with him. Carlisle's answer was desirable; I wished that it could be true, but I honestly agreed with Edward: vampires were truly hell personified. With the exception of Carlisle, perhaps. I couldn't imagine any major belief system condemning him to hell. He was so… honestly good. Not a bad mark on his record.

"If killing is enough for us to be condemned to hell…" I said slowly, my voice trailing off in suppressed horror.

Carlisle looked at me serenely. "But it truly isn't your fault. Any vampire will attest to the fact that killing as a newborn is almost unavoidable. If, every time a human breathed in, he experienced an overwhelming, burning passion for murder, could he be blamed for slipping up, even if he tried his damned hardest to resist?"

The question hung in the air. Neither Edward nor I could think of a response, and Carlisle smiled, his white teeth catching the light from the fire and gleaming. "I think that's enough on that subject for now," he told us.

I nodded slightly, and asked one of the other questions that was frequently on my mind. "Why did you change me?" I inquired tentatively, not wanting to come across as angry, or overly thrilled that he had. I just needed to know his reasoning for my change—I had no say in it, and, should he have asked me at the time, I would have vehemently refused; I was too preoccupied with my goal of reaching heaven to have consented to live eternally on Earth as some kind of fairytale monster.

"I was out hunting—well, actually, I had already hunted and was on my way back to Ashland," Edward answered. "And I came across your body at the base of that cliff… You looked dead, except for the ever-so faint rising and falling of your chest as you breathed. I remembered you from the month before, when I ran into you while you were heavily pregnant, and your thoughts of Carlisle, and something compelled me to hold my breath and carry you back to Carlisle." He looked at Carlisle, then, as if asking him to take over on his story.

"Edward arrived at our house, barely able to prevent himself from killing you himself, and gave you to me before promptly fleeing," Carlisle continued, leaning back against the couch, and looking at the fire, as if entranced by the dancing flames. "I could only think of how sad, how forlorn you looked then, almost in death, and how happy you were the last time I had seen you, jesting playfully with your friend… Shea was her name. And I knew that I couldn't let you die—that I had to give you the chance of having that happiness back." He finished with a sigh, glancing at me. "I haven't regretted it," he told me, reading my facial expression and the question on it. "Do you wish that I hadn't bitten you, Esme?"

I answered as honestly as I could, without fear of coming across as overly blunt, or brutishly frank. "In some ways, I wished you hadn't. But in many others, I'm happy you did."

"You miss your son more than you expected. You wish, every day, that he was with you. But at the same time, you hope that he is happier where he is, and that you should continue to live for his sake," Edward clarified, reading from my thoughts what I couldn't bring myself to say. He smiled slightly, and proceeded with, "You love Carlisle and I, and we make you happier than you estimated from us. You are tentative with your feelings for Carlisle, because you constantly wonder if you're good enough for his affections, and you are even more tentative with your feelings for me, because you are afraid of replacing your son with another 'child' in your heart." I looked at him, nodding to show that every word he spoke was the truth. I was… hesitant with considering Edward as my son… it made me feel like I was being unfaithful to Chris, even though I knew that wasn't the case; I couldn't shake the instinctive guilt of it.

Carlisle took my hand in his, lacing his fingers through mine. "You're also afraid of loosing your humanity," he added, not needing to read my thoughts to know that. "But, Esme, Edward and I _will_ be watching our for you, watching to ensure that it will happen less and less over the coming year, although I cannot guarantee that it will not occur again. And you don't need to be afraid of not being good enough for me, or unsure of my affections." He smiled reassuringly at me, and I did feel much better, much more assured.

"Thanks," I said with a small smile.

"It's nothing, Esme," Carlisle said while Edward nodded his agreement, reaching out to lightly touch my shoulder. As Carlisle squeezed my hand gently, I looked at him lovingly, wondering how I ever got so lucky as to receive him and Edward… and Christopher, I am going to live for you now. I'll be happy, my son.

_A happy ending, again. Drawing nearer and nearer to the end… I'm probably, with the exception of the bonus chapters I mentioned earlier, not going to write anything past their wedding. No wedding night, people. Sorry. I don't do lemons. Only suggested ones. Use your imagination. ;) Perverted comments aside, thank you for reading, please review, and have a wonderful day. ;)_

_Mel._


	25. Chapter 25

_Okay I'm skipping a bit of time… like three months or so. Not much happens then—Esme continues to get over Christopher, falls more in love with Carlisle, and continues to grow closer to Edward; she still feels some guilt about viewing him as her son, however. Thanks to everyone for reading! :) I'm going to be starting another Twilight story soon— an EdwardXBella one called _Unique_. But before you all become disappointed in my unoriginality, Bella will be different. A. She will have a backbone. B. She won't be as self-sacrificing, although she will still be a little. C. She will have a specified gift as a human that sets her apart (and a pretty original one, if I may say so myself). I'll have the first chapter/prolouge up today, hopefully. And once I'm done with my other story that I am working on right now, I'll probably start a RosalieXEmmett story. Please review, and have a wonderful day._

I bravely did what I couldn't bring myself to do for the months since my change—face my reflection in the mirror. The changes in my appearance really were drastic: my caramel curls were even, when before they had been all over the place, my hair shone in the light, when before it would be like normal hair—dull. My facial features hadn't changed as severely—my nose was still slightly too sharp for my face, my cheekbones still barely pronounced, my lips were still full and curved into a small smile even when I wasn't consciously grinning. Standing out starkly in my face were my eyes—they weren't as red when I had first changed; my diet of animal blood had diluted the crimson shade in my irises. But three months weren't enough—my eyes were amber, leaning heavily on the red in the color, rather than the golden brown. I looked utterly beautiful, but inhumanly so.

A soft knock on the bathroom door drew my gaze from the gorgeous silhouette in the mirror; I forced myself to look away, to call out a gentle, "Come in," in my melodious, lilting voice. Another sign of my inhumanity—no human could speak in such a way that it sounded like a stream flowing over rocks, like wind whistling symphonious music through trees, like a small green leaf falling upon a peaceful, quiet lake.

Carlisle opened the door, and, smiling at me, crossed the large bathroom to take my hands in his while his golden eyes warmly regarded me. "You ready?" he asked, his thumb making small circles on the back of my hand, comfortingly.

I nodded, and followed him out of the bathroom, clutching his hand, feeling all the love and happiness I would ever need in that single grip. I bade a hasty goodbye to Edward as we left through the front door, heading straight for the forest, rather than the thin, dirt path leading towards the town. Silence filled the gap between us, not awkward, but rather contented.

I finally broke it, my impatience breaking through my satisfaction. "I give up. Where are we going?" I ducked under a low-hanging, vine-covered branch with lightning speed and quickened my pace so I was beside Carlisle, looking at him quizzically, but not hopefully; he hadn't answered any of the other times I had asked.

He smiled vaguely. "Somewhere," he answered indistinctly, smiling at my slightly disgruntled expression, somehow managing to bring my hand to his lips and kiss it while still running at the break-neck speed that we were traveling at. I exhaled slowly, wondering how much longer it would be, although we had left only a few seconds ago—time flies faster when you move faster.

The trees were becoming less dense, and the ground was changing from the sodden, moss-covered earth to more of a kind of grass. It was still grey outside; the sun hadn't yet made it up over the distant horizon, but it was coming close. Up ahead, I saw a clear edge to the trees, and quickened my pace, sure that we were drawing nearer.

"Stop," Carlisle said softly, and I did, hastily; a sharp, steep cliff was rapidly approaching my feet. Breathless with wonder and awe, I looked out straight, over the endless ocean spanning before me, at the base of the several hundred feet high drop literally at my feet. The waves were calm, and lapping distantly at the shoreline, just close enough for me to hear the gentle soft sound of the waves breaking on the sandy shore. Far across the ocean, I could see the skies turning beautiful shades of pink, bright shades of orange and vibrant red as the sun lit up the sky and expanse of clouds hovering above the horizon. A smile lit up my face the way the sun was lighting up the sky—the entire view was magical, and scenically striking. Not that I had never seen the sun rise before, but that the entire ocean was new to me—growing up in Columbus, Ohio, I had never seen such a large expanse of water before, and, even if I had, it would have done this view no justice. The entire scene was breathtaking, and even more so because of my enhanced sight.

"What do you think?" Carlisle inquired quietly, squeezing my fingers, breaking me out of my trance-like state.

I turned to face him with a huge, goofy grin spreading across my face. "It's beautiful," I exclaimed happily, throwing my arms around him, carefully because of my newborn strength. He rested his chin on the top of my head as his arms wrapped around my waist, hugging me to him. I rested my cheek against his shirt, my grin reduced to a small, ecstatic smile.

His hands slightly pushed me away from him and, as I tilted my head to look at him, he leaned closer, slowly, slow even by human standards, and lightly kissed me.

I felt my eyes widen and then shut tight as I leaned into him, kissing him back and wrapping my arms around his neck maybe too enthusiastically. If that were the case, he didn't care; his arm became a manacle around my waist and his hand a soft caress on my cheek. Distantly, I remember his skin feeling cold to me while I was human, but his skin wasn't cold any longer—it burned against mine, pleasantly so.

Far too soon, he pulled away, pausing to lightly kiss my forehead once. His hand slid down my arm to hold my hand as his slowly came to rest on one knee, in front of me. His free hand slid into the pocket of his pants, and, as I gasped, bringing one hand to my face in surprise, pulled out a small black box.

"Esme…" he said, his golden eyes burning into mine. "Will you, please, do me the pleasure of becoming my wife?"

My throat clogged up; I cleared it once before happily replying, "Yes!" with a wide smile that lit up my entire face. My hand was trembling when he slowly slipped the ring onto my third finger, and, if I could produce tears, they would have been pouring down my face.

He kissed the ring—my ring—and then pulled away slightly to allow me to examine it. It was a beautiful piece of jewelry: a delicate gold band, a basic design but somehow elegant in its simplicity, with a large, clear diamond framed by several small, golden gems—topaz, perhaps? The gold perfectly matched Carlisle's eyes, and I wondered briefly if that were intentional—whether it was or not, I greatly appreciated that aspect of the ring. The gold weaved amongst the gems, intricately, creating a soft, eloquent feeling of bliss. The jeweler's work was masterful, and the price probably quite costly.

As I lifted my hand closer to my face, lightly touching the gem with my other hand in wonder, the sun peaked over the horizon, shining upon us; the gem sparkled beautifully in the sun, as did I and Carlisle.

My fiancé, I thought, as I looked at him, his face glowing, from happiness, as sunrise fell on us.

_I think my writing was more sophisticated in this chapter than in previous ones, or maybe I might just be way off base and delusional. Most likely the former. Anyhow, thanks for reading! Please, please review! It really motivates me to keep going strongly and update frequently. :) Have a wonderful day, everyone._

_Mel._


	26. Chapter 26

_Thanks for reading! This will actually be the last chapter of the story—excluding the epilogue and the three extra chapters I promised you guys earlier. :) I'll try to go out with a bang… hahah no, this chapter will be their wedding a few months later. Edward will be the priest, because Esme doesn't have enough control to really be in the same room as a human priest for a few hours and not kill him. :) Thanks to everyone for their continued support, and I hope this chapter will please. Enjoy._

I took deep, unnecessary breaths as I walked slowly down the aisle, holding my dress up with one hand, my eyes fixated on Carlisle's face thirty feet from me. I was walking at a human pace—for unknown reasons; there were no humans in the church. This was my wedding—the day I would remember for the rest of my existence, for thousands and thousands of years. True, I had been married before, but I didn't consider that a marriage when I didn't love him or fully consent to being his wife. This, right now, with Carlisle, was truly my first and only wedding.

I remember from my vague human memories, that when I was waiting backstage at my own wedding, asking Shea what she had felt when she was walking down the aisle to marry John. Her response had somewhat confused me, but now I understood it perfectly.

Just as she had mentioned, I was incredibly nervous and excited, and if I had been alive, my heart would have been thumping out of my chest, but I had absolutely no doubt that I was doing the right thing. I loved Carlisle with all of my being, and that was never going to change, no matter how many centuries or millennia went by. Never.

The dress I was wearing was one Edward had bought for me—I still didn't have the control necessary to walk into a human-occupied store to shop. I had imagined, mentally, what I had wanted the dress to look like, and he had gone out to find something that matched. And he had gotten it perfectly. My sleeves were long, straight to my knuckles, and were masterfully embroidered with beads and intricate patterns. The bodice of the gown was tight, not like a corset, but like a snug top. It was shaped like a V, dipping to just above my breasts, baring my collar bone and neck beautifully. The style of the bodice narrowed my waist and accented my hips subtly, but noticeably, giving me more of the ideal hourglass figure that I had not quite gained as a vampire. The bottom of the dress pooled around my legs, and was plain white satin with no design. The train trailed behind me a solid three or four feet and when I stepped, you could barely see the toes of my simple white shoes—pearly white with beads and a small bow over the toes that made it look only slightly over the top.

At the end of the aisle, I imagined my father hading me over to Carlisle, like he had with Charles, and kissing my hand goodbye. Some part of me wished that he, my mother, Shea, John and their children could be here to watch me wed Carlisle, but since they all thought me dead and I could loose control if they came, they weren't invited. Shea, I'm sorry I couldn't invite you. You shall always be my sister in my heart.

I took Carlisle's hands as I faced him, taking in a deep breath. He squeezed my hands gently, looking at me with a loving expression that melted my heart.

"We are gathered here today," began Edward looking at the pair of us with slight humor in his eyes. Obviously, a human priest would be in considerable danger if he were to wed us—so Edward volunteered for the job. He was no priest, and that meant the marriage wouldn't be legal, but they didn't write the laws with immortal vampires in mind, and besides, I didn't need a piece of paper to prove that I was Carlisle's and I'm sure he felt the same.

If I had been human, tears would have been pouring from my eyes as I regarded Carlisle with the soft, affection look that he was watching me with. I wished I could cry. Watching him, I realized that he was the same—that he would be crying as hard as I if only we could. My grip on his hands tightened, but I was careful not to completely crush his hand as I was aware I could.

"Do you, Esme Platt, promise to love and cherish Carlisle Cullen, through sickness and in health," Edward said, his eyes dancing with irony—we all knew neither Carlisle or I would ever get sick, but I had wanted a traditional wedding nonetheless, "for as long as you both shall… exist?" He swapped out live for exist, and I smiled slightly, to show I didn't mind.

"I, Esme Platt, promise to love and cherish Carlisle Cullen, through sickness and in health, for as long as we both shall _exist_," I swore, my voice breaking once, and my breath accelerating rapidly. Carlisle looked at me softly through his liquid gold eyes and his lips pulled up into a bright smile.

"Do you, Carlisle Cullen, promise to love and cherish Esme Platt, through sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall exist?"

"I, Carlisle Cullen, promise to love and cherish Esme Platt, through sickness and in health, for as long as we both shall live," he said, his voice steady although his eyes were passionately burning at me.

"I pronounce you man and wife." Edward grinned at me, reaching out to touch my shoulder and Carlisle's. "Feel free to kiss the bride," he told Carlisle lightly, the smile remaining on his face.

The smile on my face was so wide that I was sure it would be stuck on there for forever as I stepped closer to my _husband_, throwing my arms around his neck as I leaned up to kiss him gently, conveying all my love for him in that one, simple but passionate kiss. His arms snaked around my waist, hugging me firmly, and he kissed me back, reaching up to trail a hand down my cheek to cup my chin in his smooth fingers. Edward made a quiet little cough, but I ignored him and continued to kiss my beautiful, handsome, loving husband. He's all mine, I thought happily. And I'm his. Not that marriage could make that any more official.

I was Esme Anne Cullen, I realized suddenly. My past life was truly over. I would miss it, but not too terribly, I thought, pulling away from Carlisle to grin softly at him. "I love you," I told him ecstatically, wanting to pull him back to kiss him until the end of time.

"I love you, too," he whispered back, and leaned down to kiss me again.

After all, I was just starting a new life.

_*Sniff*… Aww man, their wedding. I love it, love it, love it. And I love you all too, for your support and reviews and how you simply read this. :) You people are amazing, and I cannot thank you enough. Have a wonderful, wonderful day. Tomorrow, I promise I will post an epilogue, and then I will start writing the three extra chapters. And after that… I'll say goodbye._

_Mel._


	27. Epilogue

_Epilogue time. :) Hope you guys enjoy. And I apologize if the last few chapters have been a little quick. That wasn't exactly my intention, but I really felt like I needed to wrap up the story quickly there. Thanks for reading, as usual. And my normal plea for reviews. :) Enjoy._

"Carlisle," I said slowly, unsure, as I eyed the broken, lifeless girl in his arms. What was he doing? Why was he bringing a beautiful, perfect girl home in his embrace? Something horrible was gathering in my stomach and I tried to smother it.

"Esme, sweetheart," he said gently, and my eyes warmed at the affection in his tone, "I couldn't leave her." The blonde girl writhed in his arms, letting out a horrible scream. I winced in remembrance of my own change. I didn't pity her.

He crossed the room, placing her on the bed in our larger house in New York. I watched him with a feeling of unease in my stomach. Had he saved her simply because she was so young and beautiful and perfect looking? I could feel the oddest feeling coursing through me—the feeling of jealously. It was absurd: we had been married for eleven years and he was in everyway the ideal husband. Carlisle was attentive, understanding, gentle and loving, and he absolutely treated me as an equal, which I wasn't generally used to from men at the time. But besides all of those things, the feeling of jealousy settled over inside me, and I felt horrible guilt for it. When he lightly brushed the gorgeous blonde's hair back from her sweaty brow, I looked away sharply, hating myself for being so insecure, even after knowing he was mine for so many years.

I quickly left the room, ignoring Carlisle when he called after me, just shutting the door and plopping out on the couch beside Edward, crossing my arms, furious with myself.

"He doesn't think of her like that," Edward said softly, touching my arms gently.

"I _know_," I groaned, aggravated. "That's the problem. I'm still jealous. Even though I know he doesn't think of her like that. I hate it, Edward." I looked down at my hands, at my diamond wedding ring on my ring finger, feeling weak. I had gotten my self-control around humans, but I had never felt so out of control of even my emotions. I shouldn't even feel like this. Carlisle had never given me _any _reason to doubt his dedication to me. Not once. I sighed quietly, touching my wedding band with my opposite hand.

Edward put his hand on top of my fidgeting ones and once they stopped moving, he removed his. "Esme, it's not…" he stopped, obviously searching for different words. After a second, he tried again. "Esme, Carlisle loves you. And right now, he's worrying over what he did to offend you. He also doesn't want to come out here and ask, because he wants to respect your privacy. He thinks that you don't want to watch Rosalie turn because a part of you regrets your own change."

"That's ridiculous," I protested, and it was the absolute truth. I was quiet for another second, considering.

"As ridiculous as you worrying over whether he still loves you?" Edward challenged, raising an eyebrow at me. I sighed, knowing he was once again right. "I usually am," he said with a light-hearted laugh. I smiled at him slightly.

"I'll go talk to him," I promised my… son with another smile.

"Good," Edward said, and returned to staring off into space, which he did requently.

I paused at the edge of the room, looking at him questioningly, waiting for him to reply to the question that was burning inside my head. "He changed her because he truly didn't want to waste such youth, such beauty." He grimaced. "He also was hoping that she could be a partner for me. He wanted her to be to me what you are to him." My heart melted and I smiled happily as I hastily ran back into the spare bedroom, where I could hear the girl's breathless screams of agony.

"Esme," Carlisle breathed, and I was in his arms the next second, snuggling against his chest, inhaling his beautiful scent desperately. He hugged me tightly against him, resting his cheek against the top of my head.

"I don't regret my change," I told him firmly. "Ever."

"Oh, Esme," he sighed, kissing my hair. "Why'd you… run like that?"

If I had been human, I would have flushed at my own stupidity. "I was jealous," I admitted, embarrassed at my foolishness. "I knew that it was stupid and I felt guilty for doubting you and… I just left. I'm so sorry." My voice was far too quiet for the girl to hear during her transformation, although her screams had quieted, as if she had realized that screaming did no good.

"I love you," he said by way of forgiveness. His hands tightened on my waist as his golden eyes lovingly scrutinized me.

"I love you, too," I replied, the happy smile returning to my face as I pulled away just enough to be able to reach his lips so I could kiss him softly.

His fingers touched the sides of my face as if I were made of glass—and I shivered at the delicate contact. The tips of his fingers weaved themselves through my hair smoother than the feeling of a silken scarf, and knotted in my hair as he kissed me continuously. I could stay like that forever—literally, because we didn't have to stop for breath like we would have if I was human.

I hoped Edward would find someone like this, I thought. Someone who understands him and loves him and will do so for forever. Someone like my Carlisle. _My _Carlisle.

He pulled away, kissing my cheeks, my chin, my jaw, my neck. I wrapped my arms securely around his neck, running my fingers through his perfect blond hair, loving the feel of it. Loving him in general.

"Forever and ever," I promised him quietly, the silly grin remaining on my face.

"Of course," he replied, like it was to be expected, which it was. Beaming ecstatically, I pulled his mouth back to mine and we kissed again.

I wasn't ever going to let go.

_Obviously, the blonde girl was Rosalie. I hope that you figured that out. :)_

_Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading! Please review, and have a wonderfully fantabulous day._

_Mel._


	28. Bonus Chapter 1

_I am sooooooo sorry I haven't updated sooner—I was grounded for a few weeks and then I've been pretty busy for the past week. I'll try to be proactive about writing in the next few days—I'm almost done with the story, after all.. Thank you so much for your patience. I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's Carlisle's POV. Please review._

I was waiting outside the hospital when the man arrived with his wife, his badly injured daughter and her friend. The mother of the girl looked up at me, her jaw visibly dropping in shock as she quietly gasped my name. I was used to this sort of reaction, of course—humans always behaved that way around me. And I couldn't blame them; I was unnatural and obviously so in my appearance.

The man approached me, the limp body of his teenage daughter in his arms. The doctor in me chastised him for moving so slowly when his daughter was in so much apparent pain, but I knew that he could do no better—humans were sometimes unbearably slow. His daughter slowly turned her head to gaze at me and her heart sped up, pounding in her chest. In half a second, I had scanned her entire figure, assessing the damage. Bloody leg, bone protruding… obviously a bad compound fracture. Nothing life-threatening, but very painful, nonetheless. I was impressed by her silent suffering. The other girl's injuries were not as bad, but they must have been painful in their own right.

"Miss Emma," I called over my shoulder to the head nurse, who I knew had just arrived. "Please fetch two gurneys." I heard her footsteps and her quickened heartbeart as she hastily set off to do what I asked. To the girl's father, I asked slowly, so that he could make out my words, "What exactly happened?"

Two and a half seconds later, the younger boy clutching the second injured girl replied, "Esme and Shea were climbing an apple tree to look at a bird's nest and the branch snapped."

A smile spread over my face. Humans were so easily amused with animal life—of any kind. I noticed the elder woman frown for a second—she was obviously not pleased that her daughter had been climbing trees. I had to agree with her. Not because I was of the mind that women should remain indoors and sew all their lives, but because trees really weren't the safest of atmospheres. This was horribly ironic because having a vampire for a doctor probably wasn't the safest of environment either. Exactly forty-five seconds after I had sent her, Miss Emma returned with several other nurses and the two gurneys I had requested.

I followed the nurses as they pushed the two girls up the hallways to the rooms I had requested, meanwhile jotting down my notes as fast as I could write, which to human eyes would make my hand a blur.

"Esme," the dark-haired girl croaked from one of the gurneys. My eyes didn't stray from the paper, and I wasn't trying to listen, but with the senses I had it was pretty hard to not hear.

"I'm so sorry, Shea," whispered back the brown-haired girl; she must have been Esme. "It's my fault we're here. I should have listened to John." That was another human trait—they always seemed to blame themselves for things that were out of their control. I completed my page and a half of basic diagnosis of their conditions.

"No, Esme, it's not your fault," Shea replied. "I should have listened to him, too. Besides, neither of us knew that bird was going to fly up into your face like that." A bird had flown into her face? The corners of my mouth twitched, but I didn't allow them to curve into a smile.

"I bet my mother had a fit when she saw that we took off our dresses," Esme whispered back, giggling. She was right—I could distantly hear her mother talking to her father about how she was "mortified that her daughter could behave as such—especially in front of a boy."

It must have suddenly dawned on her that I could hear every word of the conversation. A light blush spread across her cheeks and neck, reminding me of the blood that flowed just beneath her skin. In order to distract her from her embarrassment and me from my vampiric nature, I told the nurses maybe too loudly, "Miss Emma, Miss Mary, please take Miss Esme Platt to room 102." I read her last name form the top of my clipboard quickly enough that it caused no lapse in my speech. "Miss Katherine, Miss Brianna, please take Miss Shea Adams to room 103."

After comprehending my words, Esme looked alarmed at the prospect of being alone. To reassure her, I added "Don't worry, Miss Platt. After I diagnose your leg and make some adjustments, your family is welcome to come into your room and stay with you." Part of that was untruthful—I had already diagnosed her leg but found it difficult to explain properly to a human how I could possibly have the experience to do that so quickly when I only appeared to be twenty-five or so.

She looked relieved at this news. Once she had been wheeled into the hospital room, I looked at her leg briefly and decided that I could do nothing about her bone until she was in a hospital gown. Out of respect for her own privacy and innocence, I said, "Miss Emma, please get the patient into a hospital gown." Esme looked calmed by that order and I hid my small smile. "But be extra careful of her leg. I think we are looking at a compound fracture, broken blood vessels and maybe a damaged muscle or two." Well, I didn't _think_ that was what was wrong with her; I _knew_, but humans seem to respond better if you used the not-as-certain verbs. Something about their own confidence. "The bleeding has stopped by now, but any rough movement would start again." I had surprised myself—I had completely failed to notice the smell of the fresh blood up until that moment, and was immensely pleased with my success.

I left the room to give her privacy and stood outside the door, waiting patiently. A second doctor would be assessing Miss Adams; Esme was my only patient at the time. A minute and fifteen seconds later, I heard Emma call loudly, "She's all good, Carlisle." I made a quick trip to the room across the hall to get a dose of painkillers and then reentered the hospital room quickly enough that it would appear if I had simply walked in.

"Ah, good," I said calmly as I entered the room. "Thank you Emma." The nurse smiled slyly at me, and the corners of my lips curved up in amusement. Humans were so predictable. After she left, swaying her hips dramatically as she left the room, I turned to the girl laying in the hospital bed, a pink blush across her face. "Esme, I need to give you a painkiller before I help your leg."

She grimaced slightly and hastily stammered, "How is Shea? Is she all right?" The question surprised me. How could she be so concerned with her friend, even though she was in tremendous pain?

The least I could do was reassure her. "Miss Adams is doing just fine." It wasn't a lie—I could hear clearly what was going on in the room next door. "She has a broken rib and a broken arm, but it is not as severe as you, I'm afraid," I said, making my voice smooth and calming to ease her nerves. Her face was still unsure, and I once again was surprised at how much she cared for her friend, in such a selfless manner. "You both will do just fine, Esme." Her heart sped up when I soflty said her name. "But I need to look at your leg and to do so, I need you to be sedated so that you feel nothing. The shot won't hurt."

She gave the teensiest nod, and I bent over her tensed frame to inject the painkiller into her upper arm. She breathed in heavily, not in pain, but as if she smelled something wonderful. As her lids closed slowly, I heard her sigh quietly, and that, for whatever reason, made me stare at her in a way I had never looked at anyone before.

She really was a beautiful girl.

_And that is Carlisle's POV. What'd you think? Review and let me know. :) Have a wonderful day._

_Mel._


	29. Bonus Chapter 2

_Once again, it has been a while. This time, it was not a matter of having no computer to write with, it was a matter of having nothing to say. I can officially announce that I have recovered from the longest bit of writer's block that I have ever had. LOL. This will also be in Carlisle's point of view, and will be the end of chapter nineteen through chapter twenty, or when Esme first wakes up as a vampire. _

The rapid beating of Esme's heart signified the end of her transformation. I braced myself, both physically, for the confusion and bloodlust she would be feeling in an instant, and mentally; would she remember me? And if so, would she remember me fondly? This was an unprecedented event for me—with Edward, he had no human memories of me, just the memories created when he opened his eyes.

"She's done," Edward said quietly, more to himself than me. I looked at him softly. I knew he doubted what he did, the rightness of bringing another innocent to me. It's not your fault, I thought. If anyone is to take blame, it should be me. It is my venom propelling her heart, my bite was her last human memory, and she is my responsibility.

"Esme," I whispered quietly, knowing her newly enhanced hearing would pick it up just as easily as if I had shouted, "open your eyes."

Her crimson eyes focused on my pale face, staring in wonder. I knew then that she did remember me, and it was proven when her lips formed my name silently. "Carlisle," she whispered aloud, and started at the sound of her voice—a natural reaction. Her voice was musical, like a holy chorus of bells tinkling. Beautiful. She swept her glance over me slowly, and I could tell from the crease in her forehead that she was thinking about something deeply. This was unusual. Edward's first desire had been blood, although he hadn't known that it was blood his body craved. Esme seemed… almost human, if you looked past her ruby eyes and perfect, pale skin and her radiant, inhuman beauty and her long glossy hair that shone in a way no human could achieve… I tightened my jaw, reminding myself that she was a newborn, and I ought to be extremely cautious in dealing with her. She was no longer the sweet, innocent human teenage girl I had once known.

She looked at Edward briefly and visibly flinched. "Christopher," she said desperately, as if the name was a life preserver holding her to sanity. "Where is he?" Her voice was demanding, but I could tell it masked pain. I opened my mouth to reply; the nurses at the hospital had informed me of her son's death, but decided against it. I couldn't risk saying the wrong thing and provoking her to violence, as I knew she was so close to right then. Edward, please. He would know what to say; he knew exactly what her fears were and what she was thinking.

"Esme," Edward said slowly. "Your son isn't here. This isn't heaven. You're still… on Earth." He hesitated, and I knew he was adverse to saying that she was still alive. He didn't consider… this existence as life.

I could tell his words had no effect on Esme. "No, he has to be here," she said brusquely, as if we had just made a simple mistake. "Chris," she whispered, sounding so heart-broken that I would have done anything to keep that tone out of her voice. "Come out, baby. Please, it's not funny," she begged. I had to struggle to keep my poker face and to prevent myself from hugging her or comforting her in another way. Newborns were unpredictable; I wouldn't know how she would react to such an intrusion.

I took a step towards her, unable to prevent myself from moving. It was a mistake. Esme was instantly on her feet, snarls vibrating through her body. I extended a hand towards her, trying to soothe her. But she wasn't Esme anymore; she was a newborn vampire incapable of controlling her violent mood swings or violent urges. She looked down at her hands in horror, and, seeming to realize how different her skin was, screamed. A small breeze wafted through the window, carrying the scent of a human with it. Edward reacted quickly and with such precision that I would have been proud of him, if the situation hadn't been so dire that pride was impossible. He grabbed Esme from behind, restraining her. "Shut the window Carlisle," he begged, meeting my eyes. He was barely more than a newborn himself, and I knew the human was tempting him as well and that he didn't trust himself to get any closer to the window. I slammed it shut quickly and was instantly helping Edward, seizing Esme's arm to restrain her from jumping straight through the window.

"Esme, stop breathing," I whispered into her ear as the valiantly fought Edward's and mine combined strength. I hoped she would trust me, or at least her human memories of me to obey the command, although it would sound absurd to her. To my relief, I could feel the rising and falling of her chest stop.

"What am I?" she whispered, her voice full of self-revulsion. Her red eyes met mine desperately, and the scared, innocent look in them was so reminiscent of our first meeting, when she was a teenager, that I couldn't reply; I stared mutely into her red gaze, captivated.

"You're a vampire," Edward said bluntly, perhaps too bluntly for the situation, but he would know what was too blunt for her and I trusted his judgment Esme stopped fighting us for a second, and I knew the sheer shock of what Edward had told her would be enough to surprise her into silence for at least a few seconds. "No," he continued, answering what had to be one of her mental questions that she wasn't expecting him to hear. You don't need to kill people. Carlisle and I survive on animals alone. You don't need to kill to survive. And…" He looked at her intently, and seemed to steel himself for his net answer. "You're immortal, Esme. Which means you'll never die…" Her eyes widened in understanding, and I knew her well enough to know she was grieving over the son she had lost, the son she loved enough that she threw herself off that cliff to be with. I couldn't begin to imagine the pain of the knowledge that it wasn't enough, that she would never see her son again. I wished that there was something I could do or say to comfort her, but I was wise enough to know that nothing would have helped her then.

Her knees buckled and I caught her before she hit the floor. She was dry-sobbing, a vampire equivalent of a complete hysterical fit. Her eyes were glassed over, unseeing, and her entire form was lifeless. I held her upright, but I was terrified. Would she hate me for what I did to her? Was I wrong to change her? I hadn't been able to bear to watch her die… the happy, energetic Esme that I… what? Liked? Felt responsible for? Had affection for? Appreciated? I didn't know how to fill in that blank.

"Kill me," she murmured in a broken voice. "Kill me, please." Her pleading eyes gazed up at me. Oh, God help me, I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill her, even if she wanted me to, even if it would end her suffering, even if it was her ticket to her son. I couldn't. I _should_ have killed her. It would have been the perfect price for me to pay for turning humans against their will, even if they were dying. But despite all of this, I couldn't bear to give her up, even if she would hate me for perpetuity because of it.

"Esme," I replied quietly, hollowly, "I can't." And I pulled her into my arms, unable to keep a distance between us anymore. She was sobbing into my shirt, gripping it with strong hands. I wanted to press my face into her hair and stay there, wallowing in my own guilt and misery and selfishness, but I only allowed myself to lightly touch her hair with my hand. I don't know how long we stood like that.

_And what do you think? I might be a little rusty after all this time. Anyways, thanks so much for reading and putting up with my untimely writer's block. Please review, and have a wonderful day and New Years. :)_

_Mel._


	30. Bonus Chapter 3

_And this is the final chapter. *Tear* It's be a pleasure to write for you guys. For the last time, enjoy the chapter, and please review. It's in Edward's point of view._

I walked quickly down the Ashland streets, determined to get home as quickly and inconspicuously as I could, short of running. Thoughts from the humans surrounded me, invading the sanctum of my mind that, until my change several years previously, had never been so filled; now it was overflowing with the petty concerns of the intellectually inferior.

_I wonder if it will rain…_

_When is Robert's birthday again?_

_Hmm… Oh, look, it's Annabel; I haven't seen her since…_

I wished they would all be silent. Carlisle had no idea how fortunate he was to be a normal vampire. I laughed once, shortly, at the irony of my previous thought and had to listen to the surprise of the people on the street around me as they observed me evasively brushing past. He was a wonderful, bright man, but he never would completely understand me. He was the one who first realized I had this gift, or curse, depending on how you view it, before even I could figure it out. I smiled briefly once, recalling.

* * *

_It worked!_ The man's golden eyes focused on my face, his expression jubilant but impossibly somber at the same instant. "Edward," he began in a voice that reminded me inexplicably of a breeze over the water of Lake Michigan, soft. But it could not soothe me—how did this blonde, lithely tall man know my name? What had worked? Why would he say such a thing?

"Who are you?" I snarled, and blinked in surprise at my own voice—it had rasped and risen almost like a growl of a lion, but much smoother and more velvety.

_Oh, my. I'd better be careful._ "My name is Carlisle Cullen," he said gently, still staring at my face as if he had never seen another human before, or if my face so captivated him that it was unfeasible reaction to look away politely. "You're in my home outside Chicago." _How can I tell him? Will he believe me? If I use the wrong words, I could ruin everything._ _He will notice the thirst soon._

The word thirst had a mountainous effect upon me.

It was as if someone had thrown a match into a puddle of dry brush; my throat erupted into searing heat and flame. I needed to put out the fire. I looked around the room wildly, searching for water, something. No! An animalistic instinct cried out in revolt at the thought of _water_, the life-giving, life-sustaining substance that would put the fire out. I _needed _something, but how could I get it if I didn't know what it was?

_Oh, dear. The thirst._

The word added wood to the burning bonfire and my throat's heat ascended immensely, painfully.

"What's wrong with me?" I demanded, trying to control the urge to leap out the window to go get—what? What did I need?

_Is now the time? How can he believe he's a vampire? It took me months to accept._ Carlisle approached me warily, like one would approach a large wounded animal. I snarled instinctively at him, unable to suppress the growling snarl, but then froze as one of his words computed in my brain.

Vampire.

What did vampires drink? Blood. My throat erupted again at the mere_ sliver _of a thought of the repulsive red liquid. But it wasn't repulsive. No… I _desired_, I craved it more than air.

I _was_ a vampire.

"I'm… a vampire," I whispered the words, thoroughly nauseated by the idea. How would I bear becoming a mindless killing machine?

_How did he know?_ The handsome man across from me looked startled, as one might if a dog suddenly spoke coherently.

"You told me. You said 'How can he believe he's a vampire'," I hissed quickly, digging my fingers into the sides of my neck to distract myself from the thirst.

_I didn't say that aloud, did I?_

"Yes," I answered immediately.

His jaw dropped wide. _No, I didn't. Edward?_

"What?"

_Oh, my._

I shook my head, recovering from my reverie, stepping down into the street seven blocks from the edge of town and another four miles from the house Carlisle and I shared. A heavily pregnant woman was standing across the street with her back to me, staring up at an apartment complex in front of her. She sighed and I could easily hear it from across the road. As she took a step forward she stumbled, and my speedy eyes easily calculated her rate and angle and determine there was no way she would remain on her feet. Impulsively, I crossed to her side a speed no human eye could track, and caught her by the arm, pulling her to her feet. Her smell wafted over me as she unconsciously tossed caramel wavy locks over her shoulder and out of her face; I held my breath.

She turned to look at me, thinking thankful, fruitless things, but she froze when she met my eyes. This was not an abnormal thing—our eyes often startled humans, whether it was the color or the depth or, in Carlisle's case, the ancient wisdom you could see within it. But what was abnormal was that she wasn't focused on any of these things.

_I know him…_ Her thoughts were immediate, instinctive. I should have released her and walked away to return home. Instead, I remained there, intrigued by her memories as she relieved them herself.

_Dr. Cullen was unlike anything I had ever seen. His skin was unnaturally pale--the exact opposite of what I was used to seeing. The whiteness of his flesh suggested he had never actually been in sunlight enough to get a tan. But what surprised me--and probably my mother--the most was his attractiveness. The doctor's hair was blond and mostly neat except for a few wavy strands that hung down over his forehead. His eyes were shockingly golden, and were filled with warmth. I could feel my heart beat quicker while I was looking at him, and I blushed slightly at my extreme reaction to his presence. I had never before reacted like that to a man... and there was no doubt that he was a man, although he looked almost too young to be such a well-respected and well-known doctor._

Her memory was nothing close to the clear, crisp memories that a vampire had, but was not as fuzzy as most humans'. She had obviously preserved these memories carefully, purposely remembering them clearly. This worried me—if she saw Carlisle, she would certainly recognize him, and realize he hadn't aged a bit since she had last seen him. I should have left, once again, but I stayed, determined to find out how much she did remember him.

_I inhaled deeply, and smelled something sweet and unusual. It was the smell of a forest after it rains... of the soft mist rising above a lake mysteriously. Was it Dr. Cullen that smelled so good? He stepped closer to me, and reached out to hold my arm still as he administered the shot. I almost recoiled at his touch. His hands were so cold, as though he had just stepped inside from a snowstorm; but it was summer and that excuse made no sense. The last thing I felt was the needle slide into my skin, numbed by his cold hands._

_Sadly, I shook my head, and stood. "I'll be fine." No matter how much I wanted to accept his offer, it would be easier if I gathered my will and left now, rather than in front of my father. "Good..." My voice failed and I cleared my throat to try again. "Goodbye, Carlisle," I whispered, wanting to hug him, but refusing to do so._

_He smiled sadly and offered me his hand. I shook it, feeling confused once again at how cold his skin was, and enjoying touching him anyways. I had to practically pry my hand off his with my opposite hand, but I finally let go, turning my back on the attractive doctor, and hobbling ungracefully out of the room. Even though I wanted to desperately, I did not look back._

Of course. She was attracted to him physically, as all female humans are, but more; she felt affection for him. This was why she had preserved the memory so carefully. This was even more dangerous. Humans couldn't fall in love with us—or even feel the tiniest bit of affection.

She emerged from her memories, studying me carefully, determined to find a connection between the doctor she memorized and me. She lingered over my skin and hair, but then finally decided that I had to be his son after gaping at my golden eyes for a few seconds. I was slightly pleased, but also horrified by this fact. Pleased because I wish I could be Carlisle's real son, but horrified by what it would mean. She could see Carlisle in me, which meant she knew him too well. She noticed my eyes and their abnormality and recalled Carlisle's cold skin efficiently… too efficiently. I left then—fast enough that when she blinked, I was gone.

I didn't tarry in the city—I ran through ally ways and jumped fences in my haste to inform Carlisle of my discovery. He had never mentioned her to me or thought about her, but then again, I ignored his thoughts as much as I could, so if he had thought about her, then maybe I wouldn't have known anyways.

We would have to leave, relocate. I clamped my jaws together at the thought—angry that I would have to leave. I liked Ashland. It wasn't too sunny, or too populated. The humans weren't too curious or too nosy. The surplus animal population around was a plus as well. And moving to a new town was a pain anyways—the documents had to be forged, a new story fabricated and new beginnings for both of us.

This woman could ruin everything.

_A huge THANK YOU (!!!!!!!!!!!!!) for all of my readers and reviewers. It has been a wonderful ride writing for you. And for the final, nostalgic time, thanks so much for reading and please review. Have a wonderful, beautiful day._

_Love,_

_Mel._


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